Page 99 of Cover Story

‘You know, it’s pretty incredible to lie and wheedle your way into someone’s trust using a false identity, get invited into their lives, steal their possessions to trawl their private information. Then turn round and say hey, if you don’t want everyone to think you’re a cunt, lend a hand in digging me the dirt I failed to find. You must think we’re stupid. The stupid couple who run a bar and only know how to free-pour Tanqueray.’

‘That’s not what I’m saying, at all!’

‘And I bet you also think we’re stupid enough to let you walk out of here having had a bit of a rant at you?’

‘I don’t think you’re stu—’

Amber’s menacing control broke.

‘Shut up, Miss Alias. Tomorrow morning first thing I’m going to call your editor and tell them we’re making an official complaint against you and them for what you’ve done. Invasion of privacy, taking our property, false identity, whatever the fuck– I don’t know what the official terms are. Then I’ll find some press standards-type watchdog and tell them, too.’

‘Please, Amber. We’re not enemies here.’

‘Yes we fucking are. I don’t know your name but I have Connor’s and that’ll do. Becky Something and Connor Adams.’

‘Connor’s only my boyfriend, go for me, not him.’

‘Even though he’s a reporter?’

‘That’s how we met. He didn’t want to do this story and begged me not to. It was, I swear on my life, a mistake that he walked past that first day we met. I’d have said I was singleotherwise. It’s nothing to do with him, please. Report me. I’m Bel Macauley. Investigations Editor. Look me up.’

‘You really are mad about him, aren’t you? A criminal couple, like Bonnie and Clyde. Fred and Rose. But no, sorry. He was by your side every step of the way. Get out of my bar and out of our lives and don’t come back, you conniving bitch. Enjoy your P45 and if I ever see you in Didsbury again, I will make your life hell.’

Amber unlocked the door and threw it open.

‘I’m really sorry,’ Bel said to the still-impassive Rick, and Amber said: ‘Yeah, yeah. Bye, now.’

‘Bye, Bella!’ Ted called innocently as she swept past, and she managed a tight smile.

Bel was marching down the street, grim-faced, when she saw Connor emerging from a minicab, a few yards away. She wanted to run to him, except when she told him what they were facing, he would have every right never to speak to her again.

He was jacketless and had clearly raced over. He frowned at Bel, ducking his head down to tell the driver to wait.

‘You’re all right?’ he said. ‘That wasn’t a nice few minutes.’

She could see he had been deeply worried and some part of her would feel gratitude if there were any non-terrified part of her left available to feel that.

‘Kind of. Thank you for coming to rescue me.’

‘It went all right? When you didn’t reply I thought …’

‘Not really, no. They know who we are.’

‘What?Are they going to the police?’

‘Nope. Worse. The editor and IPSO.’

‘What?! Fuck!’

‘Yep. Shall we?’ Bel gestured at the taxi. ‘I think we’re best off doing this elsewhere.’

‘Should’ve enjoyed my not nice few minutes more,’ Connor said, opening the car door.

55

No matter how many times they ran the sums, no matter how many times they looked for the ingenious way out, they came to the same conclusion. Royally screwed.

And no matter how many times they watched film of the mundane comings and goings in a doorway in South Manchester, Glenn Bailey stubbornly failed to materialise.

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