Page 106 of Cover Story

They shook hands, warmly. When they parted outside, Bel looked over her shoulder at Connor walking to his Metrolink in the dark, just to record one of their last moments in her mind on a historic day. She turned away quickly as he turned back too.

The following day there was a phone call to the Mayor’s office, outlining the evidence, and the content of the interview with Erin, made by someone more senior at the paper than Bel or Connor. They asked if Glenn Bailey wanted to comment. After what was reportedly a flurry of activity at the other end, an assistant confirmed he did not.

Ian messaged Bel:

Apparently Glenn went ballistic, ranting and raving about shadowy forces conspiring to bring him down. Then put his coat on and marched out, that was it. No one can get their heads round the idea that he’s not coming back– they’re wondering if it might be a George inSeinfeldbit where he turns up like he never got sacked, next Monday– but equally, no one can see how he CAN come back.

Official word arrived via press release to all outlets, first thing on Wednesday, the morning their story was running. The Mayor of Greater Manchester, Glenn Bailey, had checked intoa private clinic on the recommendation of his doctor to treat ‘sex addiction issues’. He would not be returning to the role of Mayor for the ‘foreseeable future’ and ‘no further statements will be made while he addresses his mental health’.

‘My God,’ Bel said, as they all stared at the news break on their phone screens: ‘He’s the victim, then? No accountability.’

‘Nice try at spoilering your story, too,’ Aaron said.

‘Too late, fucko,’ Bel said, hitting refresh on the paper’s website again; they were publishing at 9.00 a.m.: ‘You’re only going to drive more traffic to us because people want to know why he’s gone. And every subsequent story for the next few days will have to quote us.’

This was what it had all been for. Bel acknowledged her vicarious ‘gotcha’ energy, alongside the nobler sense of having done something to right a wrong. She tried to make sure righteousness did not become gloating. A journalist like Aaron had no problem admitting their glories were others’ horrors, he laughed at Bel’s bleeding heart twinges. ‘Bless yer. Should’ve become a Macmillan nurse if you’d wanted the love of strangers, Macauley.’

Would she feel anything if Glenn Bailey came for her? Or the Kendricks? No, she’d take her lumps. Aunt Tamara said in life you needed a strong stomach and a strong lipstick. Bel was thirty-four and she had a bird’s eye view of herself today, working out what her job was going to mean. What she was going to make of it.

Bel’s mobile began ringing nonstop as other outlets picked up on it, social media a choppy sea churn of outrage, conspiracies and bad-taste memes with coffee cups. Bel had broken stories before, but never one of this size.

More women started coming forward via Twitter to sharetheir Handsy Bailey (and worse) anecdotes– secretaries, nightclub hostesses, even a cancer survivor he’d met at a tree planting ceremony. Tales of love bombing, lying, brief relations, silence and threats and a theme of wheedling to receive nudes that turned into a stash of ammunition.

Erin had never been alone, just isolated.

The Kendricks’ convictions were rehashed, as MPs and commentators agreed that Bailey’s position was ‘untenable’ due to his taking favours from fraudsters. Bel was nervous in case some enterprising reporter named Amber, but deleting the Airbnb listing seemed to have done the trick of scrubbing her from the record. The ownership of the Didsbury sex den was the issue, not its administration. She wondered what Team Ci Vediamo were making of it all and was highly unlikely to find out.

She and Connor stared at the hard copy stack of papers with their names on the front page.

‘Funny sort of souvenir, isn’t it? But I’ll keep one for my parents,’ Connor said.

Aaron stagily shook the paper out like a stockbroker father in a 1950s film, and read aloud: ‘Glenn Bailey’s down-to-earth manner and approachability made him immensely popular in his native city.Yet persistent rumours swirled that there was another side to the former ‘nighttime czar’ who’d done so much down the years to reinvigorate the fortunes and image of his beloved Manchester … One person who met ‘the other Glenn’ was twenty-four-year-old Erin Howitt, who interned in the Mayoral office at the start of the year …’

‘You know what I’m taking from this?’ Aaron said.

‘That career abusers in positions of power should never relax?’ Bel said.

‘Knock on the back door instead.’

59

Bel was walking home on Thursday, having spent the day negotiating interview access to Erin a dozen times. Bel had insisted Erin was the appropriate spokeswoman and with Bel’s guidance, Erin was very willing to do it.

Bel would go so far as to say she’d seen Erin grow in stature and confidence hour by hour.

It reminded her of a James Baldwin quote: ‘The victim who is able to articulate the situation of the victim has ceased to be a victim, he or she has become a threat.’

Bel was listening to a high-profile politics podcast analysing Glenn Bailey’s curtailed career– and what they coyly called in the introduction ‘his tragic, dysfunctional flaw.’ It prompted Bel to startle passers-by outside Boots by bellowing:‘It wasn’t a fucking chromosomal abnormality it was a CHOICE.’

Her progress was interrupted by an automated voice. She’d accidentally turned on the option that robotically related texts, in telegram-reading fashion. It was enhanced by the fact she had a friend called Miles so had to differentiate in her address book.

MILES OPEN BRACKET MY BROTHER CLOSE BRACKET.Mum incoming like Scud missile. Table stuff at wedding. Looking forward to seeing you. Been ages. Xx

Bel scrabbled the AirPods out of her ears and panicked. Verity’s

wedding was this Saturday! She’d completely forgotten! Verity’swedding, Tim’s sister: Tim and Rhiannon there together. Bel’s sacred vow to her mother she’d not pull a disappearing act. Not only did she not want to renege on that promise, using an obvious excuse at the last minute – when she’d been planned and budgeted for – would be a shit’s trick.

Bel replied to her brother and seconds later, her phone flashed with MUM.

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