The Liar and The Mob

By Janey Rosen

From the number one bestselling author of 'The Sebastian Trilogy,' Janey Rosen brings you a tale of betrayal, love and lies.

If a fire took your husband’s life it would be an unimaginable tragedy.
A tragedy that would break the strongest woman.

What if you then discovered that your husband had led a secret life of deceit, of debt, of adultery?
Would you blame yourself? Or would you confront the one person who stole everything from you and, in so doing, become embroiled in a dark underworld where your own life was in jeopardy?

Meet Melody and Marco and the mob.
Sometimes it’s best not to know the whole truth because there is no coming back from that.

The Liar and The Mob: One woman, one Sicilian and a war you could not foresee.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Janey Rosen
• Release date: Aug 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781974112869

Janey Rosen

Janey is the author of the No.1 bestselling Sebastian Trilogy, Penmorrow, The Liar and The Mob and Thane. She's currently working on a thriller and women's fiction novel.

Book preview

This book is dedicated to all my incredible readers, my friends, who make me smile on a daily basis. Thank you for your interaction on social media and for reading my stories. It is also dedicated to my incredible street team, Rosen’s Roses. Ladies, I love you all so much! Your support is unwavering and greatly appreciated.

Special thanks to Katie, Nikki, Emma, Christina, Jodie, Sarah, SJ, for beta reading and being honest. You helped me to make this a better book.

Thanks also to Mum, Mainey and Sarah-Jane.

Thank you Muriel for formatting, for making my book look pretty and for your patience.

Finally, thank you to my husband, family and friends who support me and put up with me being antisocial.

– Janey x

Please follow me on social media, I’d love to hear from you:

Twitter: @JaneyRosen

Facebook: facebook.com/JaneyRosen

Email: [e-mail]

Please check out my blog for details of forthcoming signings and news:

http://www.janeyrosen.me/

Melody

It wasn’t a real police car and for that I was thankful. I had been expecting them of course, for nearly a week actually. Number five would have had a field day if they’d arrived with blue lights flashing and uniforms and those little shoulder radios squawking all my business over the airwaves of Amberfield Crescent. Can you imagine? Not that I really cared what they thought, it’s just that this was difficult enough without the neighbours talking to the local paper again and them having even more scurrilous tripe for the daily print run. Three days, that’s how long I’d already graced their front page. Well, me and Coop. Coop mostly - very little was written about me except the facts: Widow, no children–read failure into that–according to neighbours, a quiet introverted woman who was devoted to successful businessman Sean Cooper.

Mrs. Cooper was unavailable for comment.

No one ever asked me for a comment, not that I’d have readily provided them with one. What do I say when really what they want me to say is that there was no way my husband would have taken his own life. I couldn’t say that or anything else without it all being a terrible lie.

I watched them walking up the path towards me. One man and one woman just like the night they knocked and told me that my Coop was dead. I think they always sent a woman just in case I made things awkward, broke down and got all emotional. They weren’t the same duo of course, these two looked more senior, more wise, less likely to believe me when I pretended that I’d had a happy marriage. I’d loved him though and I think he’d loved me in his own way, so that was at least a small truth.

I let them in and offered the obligatory cup of tea which they accepted and balanced the Seletti teacups on their knees. Neither commented on the fact that they looked like two entirely different china cups stitched together. Another impulse buy, spending Coop’s money that it turns out he didn’t really have.

I’m sorry for your loss, said the man who had introduced himself as Detective Constable Richard Cross. I couldn’t help but think how his name did him a disservice because he had a rotund, smiley face with just a hint of the blue to his nose that gave away a love of booze. His female sidekick, Detective Inspector Jude Stiller was as wiry as a bird, the sort who might snap on a stiff breeze.

They were both sorry for my loss. I wanted to scream at them that Coop was not lost, he was dead. I may not have seen his body, or what was left of it, but he was as dead as a door nail and no sorries would change that.

Thank you, I replied and sipped my Earl Grey.

In the absence of a note, Cross continued, I’m afraid there’ll be an inquest. An investigation is ongoing as you know.

Yes. I said. Yes, I understand.

The wiry bird pecked at her cup, exchanged glances with her colleague then slid her eyes to mine. I hate to talk about this but you do know it’s awfully unusual for a body to burn as completely as your husband’s did?

A shiver tracked down my spine, a rock in my throat that I couldn’t quite swallow past.

I realise this is upsetting, said Bird.

Cross coughed into his hand. Mrs. Cooper, I have to ask. Is there anyone you can think of who might have had a grudge against your husband?

I looked at him and wondered if he knew. If this charade was part of the usual police form to get me to say out loud what was possibly already written up in some report. No, I said. Coop was loved and respected.

Cross nodded. Bird placed her teacup on the coffee table. I toyed with a string of pearls around my throat, a bead of sweat sliding down my back.

I’m sure he was, Bird eventually said. And I’m sure the investigation will prove that the fire was a tragic accident.

I lifted my gaze to hers and said in all sincerity, "Even if it wasn’t–if it was something else–I want to know. Need to know."

We’ll be in touch the minute we know more.

Thank you.

At the front door I reached out a hand and gently shook theirs. Across the way a curtain twitched, the shadow behind watching, judging.

Oh, one last thing, Mrs. Cooper.

I looked DI Stiller in the eye. Yes?

Your husband’s dentist. We’ll be needing his contact details if you don’t mind.

Melody

Three Weeks Later

It was a frigid day beneath a bleak January sky the day I buried the remains of my husband, Coop. It was also the day I discovered the extent of the bastard’s lying and cheating. Quite the revelation for someone who had loved him once, when she was a girl blindly trusting, who wanted nothing more than to make him happy. Just a girl who met a boy and gave herself to him heart and soul, blah blah bloody blah. Now, twenty-nine and childless, what could life hold for me?

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

My gaze flicked over the mourners but I seemed to be alone in my amusement at the irony of that line. Pinching my lips together, I forced back a bitter laugh.

Beside me stood my mother, Cynthia, who snivelled into a hanky while my father, Paul, held my hand. I reached out my free hand and uncurled my fingers, a red rose slipping silently onto the bleached wood of my husband’s last resting place. Flanking the grave, left and right, were the sombre faces of Coop’s friends and business associates. Moneyed. Cocky arrogance in their faces, their deportment, the cut of their designer suits. I bet not one of the sods is sad that he’s dead.

I realised then that I didn’t have a single friend, not one. Some time between marrying Coop and today, my friendships had receded into the shadows of the farce that my life had become.

The priest bowed his head over a bible. As we gather here to commend our brother, Sean David Cooper, to God our Father, and to commit his body to the earth, let us express in prayer our faith in the resurrection. As Jesus Christ was raised from the dead, we too are called to follow him through death to the glory where God will be.

Everyone’s head bobbed low as the man’s words settled over us but gave me no comfort. Truthfully, the thought of Coop being resurrected was as shocking as his death. Would I want him back? What if I had the chance to start over with him, to do things differently. I honestly don’t think I could. I’d never say the words out loud, you see, the relief that sat alongside the grief.

On a deep inhale I lifted my chin as a biting wind whipped the ends of my hair over my face. My eyes stayed bone dry–I had no tears to offer the occasion, having spent those frivolously on the day the fire took Coop, aged just thirty-five. In any case, there was one person present who leaked enough tears for all of us.

I had wondered what she would look like. The script from her hand on the letter folded small in my coat pocket was italic, older than the Marilyn Monroe doppelgänger who stared across the grave at me. I had an uncanny urge to smile at her, connected as we were by the dead man in the ground between us.

My father’s hand gripped my arm, his breath scented with mint humbugs and home, blew warm on my cheek as he whispered, It’s time to say goodbye, love.

Sliding my gaze from the woman to the coffin, I nodded. What does one say to her husband when it’s time to leave him in a graveyard, alone, cold, hated as much as loved? In the event, I simply turned on my heel. The only sounds, besides the woman’s sobs, was the creak of snow underfoot and the cawing of crows high up and all around me.

I felt her when I neared the black funeral car. I didn’t want this, not today, not here. Why did you come?

Small puffs of icy breath dissolved beside my face as she bit out her reply. I loved him. Why wouldn’t I be here? There was a hint of a challenge in the question, daring me to cause a scene, to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she had destroyed me, had fractured my orderly world.

How long? I asked.

Five years, give or take.

Five years. I was twenty-four and still in love. Five years ago Coop and I had sex daily or weekly but we had sex. Made love. Made plans. Five years. I see.

You didn’t suspect?

Did I suspect? Actually, it was laughable when I thought back to the encouragement I’d given him to progress his career, to make the money to achieve our dreams. No, I didn’t suspect. I didn’t want to consider that our life was built on a foundation of bloody lies. I believed in him.

I shook my head, my parents waiting a few paces ahead at the car. Not in my worse nightmares, no.

Behind me the woman scoffed. In that case I pity you. You don’t know the half of it, trust me.

If I wasn’t so empty, so numb, I might have hit her. There was nothing more that could be said that could twist me inside more than the knowledge that this had spanned five years. At any moment I would crumble into dust myself and I welcomed it.

The car, my parents, seemed too far to reach as darkness pinched at the fringes of my vision and, no matter how I sucked it in, the air in the graveyard was too thick to breathe. Leave me the hell alone, I hissed.

The time to face up to it all would come; for now my thoughts were only of Coop’s charred remains in a box drenched in tears that were not his widow’s but his whore’s.

Sleep. I just wanted to sleep all this away.

Mel, wake up sweetie.

There was a voice like treacle that I knew so well to be my mother’s. Peeling my eyes open, I blinked and looked around at my bedroom in my parent’s home. I dozed off?

My mother sat on the bed, my hands covered in hers. Her eyes were blotchy red and swollen, she looked older these past few days. You did, love, yes. What with the upset of the funeral, it’s not surprising.

Are they all still here?

No, the last of them left a few minutes ago. I saved some Victoria sponge for you and your favourite red jelly.

I’m not ten, Mum.

No. No, you’re not, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you until all of this is behind you.

Rolling onto my side, I buried my face in a pillow with a groan. I wasn’t sure how to even begin to put this behind me. I wish I could die.

Silence. My mother sniffed, her hand now smoothing small circles on my back. That’s rubbish, she huffed. My girl, we didn’t bring you up to be a quitter. Now, up you get. Go and run a flannel over your face and come downstairs. Your father’s running Nanny home in a minute and there’s something she wants to give you.

Ugh! Fine. I pushed up from the bed to my feet.

A headache bunched in my temples as I padded to the bathroom. Gripping the rim of the washbasin I stared at my reflection in the mirror, not recognising the pale face with a cold dead stare. Smudged circles ringed my eyes, cheeks hollow. If it was possible to feel like I’d been hit by a lorry without sounding like a cliché, then that was precisely how I felt. I turned on the cold tap, reached for a flannel and washed my face, patting it dry on a sigh. I needed to go and say bye to my grandmother though I honestly couldn’t face seeing anyone right now.

At the foot of the stairs I heard Nanny’s throaty laugh, the sound warming me a little as it always had. Beside my parents and my brother, Rory who lived overseas, she was the person I loved most in the entire world.

Ah, here she is, coo’d Nanny from the sofa. I sat next to her, hugged her, breathed in her floral scent. Don’t worry, Pet. Nanny’s here.

It took a long while before I pulled away, surprised by my inability to cry even in her arms. Thank you for being here for me.

No bingo today, she chuckled. It was a choice between coming for free eats after the funeral or watching last night’s Eastenders. Funeral was less depressing.

My lips pulled up in a tight smile. I wanted so badly to tell her about the letter, about the lies, all of it. I knew my family loved me, that they’d support me but they’d loved Coop too, like a son. I couldn’t tell them all of it, of course, and certainly not today, his funeral. I just couldn’t destroy the memories they had of him while their grief was so raw. No, I’d tell them in a few days time–just the bits about the cheating. They deserved to know but not right now.

A huge chunk of cake appeared on my lap. I smiled up at Mum and forced a tiny piece down on a dry swallow. It was as if all the emotion that I should be pouring out was knotted deep in my throat and stomach, choking me.

Nanny patted my knee. I’ve been thinking, Melody, about the cottage and how it’s been sat empty since Pops and I stopped going there. Mention of the cottage always made me smile. So many happy memories of holidays and weekends as a family. Since Pops passed we’d none of us used it. I was going to let it go, to be honest. Then I had a brainwave and wondered if you’d like to use it. You know, just until you get over poor Coop and find your feet again.

Thanks, Nanny. I can’t do it though. I’ve got so much to sort out, calls to make. Coop’s affairs have to be all tied up, the money too. I’ve got no idea how much he’s left me or even where to start with it all. He had life insurance, there’ll be bills to pay, the showroom insurance to see to.

The elderly woman creased her eyes in a smile. Oh pooh. There’ll be plenty of time to worry about all that when you’ve got over the shock. Until then I don’t think it’s sensible for you to be on your own again at the house. Either stay here with your mum and dad or use the cottage. Into my palm she pressed an old key. Take this anyway, use it if you want to.

My father huffed with a roll of his eyes. To me he quipped, Don’t be so quick to dismiss the idea, Melly Moo. Nanny has a good point. You don’t want to be holed up at the house with all those memories and ghosts at the moment.

My mother cut in. She’ll stay here, I won’t hear another word on it.

She won’t want to be around us Cynth, love; let her go to the cottage for a couple of weeks. Countryside’ll do her the power of good.

Hello, I said with a scowl. I am still here and am more than capable of making my own mind up.

I know love, replied Mum. We’re only saying what’s best for you in the circumstances. Young widow can’t be rattling around that big house alone what with poor Coop dead and buried.

I sucked in a lungful of air and calmed my simmering temper. They should know me well enough by now to know my stubborn nature. I’m going home. I’ll sort out what needs to be sorted and then take it from there.

He’ll have left you well provided for so there shouldn’t be any problems. Nanny tugged her coat around her plump bosom and grabbed her walking stick.

If only you knew.

If you won’t use the cottage, a nice holiday’ll do you the world of good. Somewhere warm like Bournemouth.

It’s January.

Yes but it’s the coast, love. Always warmer by the seaside.

The doorbell chimed. Taxi’s here Nanny.

I’ll see her out, said Dad.

Pushing to my feet I hugged my grandmother goodbye, watching as she shuffled up the path of my parent’s modest house, my father close behind. In a way I was glad of the normality that being home seemed to bring, even in circumstances that were anything but normal. As the front door clicked shut, Dad’s feet pounding up the stairs, the doorbell chimed. I’ll get it, Mum.

Melody.

Oh, dear God, it was her. My chest tightened. What the hell do you want?

We need to talk.

Before I could slam the door in Coop’s whore’s face, she’d shoved past me into the hallway. I have nothing to say to you. The truth of it was that I was beyond desperate to know all the minutiae. To understand how it was that my husband had managed to fool me and for so long with this tramp.

Unthreading a black woollen scarf from her throat, she tossed me a pitiful smile and sighed. Listen, she said. He took us both for a ride. I’m as much the victim here as you are, so hear me out.

As I led the woman into the lounge I had a very bad feeling about this. I’d thought my life was crushed when I’d read the note she’d sent in the mail, that I’d reached absolute rock bottom. Her letter showed me that the life I’d known was in fact a web of lies. Even my grief was robbed from me now. How could anything be worse than the gut wrenching pain of that sort of betrayal?

Marco

Sporting my most charming smile I released the bride’s small hand, my warm congratulations on her nuptials having just left my lips. The photographer’s lens snapped behind me. Again, I adjusted my position until the prick got a shot of my back. The bride, Angel–what sort of fucking name is that?–unhooked her veil, handing it to a bridesmaid with ginger hair that clashed with her pink dress, tits the size of footballs. It wasn’t the best wedding I’d ever been to, to be honest, but the free-flowing champagne was Bolly so it had its good points.

Across the ballroom, barely concealed by a pillar, was Evan. To my right, helping himself to the canapés as usual, was Donut Dave our cleaner. I should be anxious, being here in a public place, but inside I was dead calm. If anything, adrenalin spiked as it always did when I was working. Lifting the flute to my lips I allowed myself one more sip, needing a clear head.

The bride’s mother looked up at me from under the lip of her wide peach hat. I don’t believe we’ve met, she said and she was right.

Extending my hand, I gripped hers in a firm handshake. John Stephenson. Friend of the groom. It wasn’t exactly a lie if you park the fake name to one side. I’d met the groom when he’d failed to pay up on the loan he’d taken out to pay for this shindig a couple of months ago. I’d met him again at the office, his office, when I tried to explain the importance of not fucking around with the firm. Today he’d been the groom with a leg in plaster having thought he was too bloody clever for his own good. Now, deadlines were deadlines and his had well and truly passed. It was time to take a stand or the whole city would see my outfit as weak.

Lovely to meet you. Cheryl’s done well for herself. Kevin’s a super catch, don’t you think?

Yeah, he’s a good sort. Where is he? I’d like to go and congratulate my old chum.

The woman beamed and pointed to the bar where I could see my client downing a whisky, left leg in a cast stuck out at all angles from a cut-off trouser leg. Honestly, it would be hilarious if I wasn’t so pissed off. Enjoy the rest of the night, I said and cricked my neck. Falling into a brisk stride I edged around the milling guests and made for the bar, aware of Evan falling into step behind me.

The client’s eyes stretched wide.

Kev, my dear friend. Slapping him on the back I crowded him with all six foot five inches of my toned body. I was an intimidating bastard, not afraid to use my stature to do just that. Congratulations. Taking his glass from him, I brought it to my lips and drained it, thumping it down on the bar with a grin that didn’t meet my ice grey stare. A word if I may? I was always polite.

What? What are you doing here? He looked close to peeing his pants.

Smoothing my palms over the lapels of my navy suit jacket, I threw him a tight smile, my palm resting on his shoulder. Come to pay my respects to the happy couple. Shall we? My free arm swung up towards the double doors beside the bar.

Please. Just another couple of days. His plea came out as a croak. On a sharp exhalation I shook my head. I swear I’ve got most of the cash but, what with the wedding and everything, I’ve not had time to–

I cut him off by digging my fingers into his shoulder. I was a patient man to a point but I’d heard it all a million times before. Lowering my voice to a throaty growl, I said, Move your fucking arse or we’ll have this conversation right here in front of your posh guests. Choice is yours.

Kevin grabbed a pair of crutches that were resting against a bar stool. Wedging them under his arm pits he did a lopsided shuffle through the exit, myself and Evan close behind. I’d already checked the place out, knew where was private, a delivery yard behind the hotel.

The January night air was frigid, our breath puffing small clouds illuminated by the one halogen light in the yard. Evan and I crowded our debtor who, by now, was backed against a wall minus his crutches which were now tucked up under my own pits. I could get used to this, I quipped. Earn some sympathy from the ladies, don’t you think Evan?

My soldier nodded with a chuckle. Positive winner, Boss. Reckon you’d even score a fuck with old Kev’s new missus seeing as how she likes invalids.

The man’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursed, face puce. That’s enough!

My fingers curled around the wooden hand-hold as I raised a crutch and jabbed it into his gut. Hissing through his teeth, his bravado faltered. I kept the point of the crutch embedded just below his sternum, applying enough pressure to cause pain but do no real damage. Yet. Do you realise how this is going to play out, Kev?

He shook his head, eyes screwed shut.

You’re going to help us out, okay?

Yes. Yes, anything.

Evan snorted. I slid my eyes to him then back to Kevin. Excellent. See, I knew you were a reasonable man. Want to know what you’re going to do for us?

He nodded.

You’re going to offer yourself up as an example to all the other wasters in London who think they can screw the mob over.

"No! Please, I beg you."

Bit late for begging, Kev. Isn’t it a bit late for begging, Evan?

Evan nodded, his hand slipping into his suit pocket, withdrawing a blade. I’d say so. With a snap of his fingers, the serrated edge of the small curved knife sprang free of its handle, glinting under the light above. Kevin gasped, whimpered, struggled until I encircled his throat with my fist, the crutches falling to the ground with a clatter on an otherwise silent night. My breath puffed into the fucker’s face melding with his own wheezing pants.

Don’t make a sound, I said.

Wipeout, Boss?

Glaring at Evan, I nodded. This soldier had been testing my damn patience for nearly a month. This was his one chance to get his shit together or he’d be where Kev stood. He ought to know this. It was like trying to micro manage a group of fucking retards–merda!

It took all of my self control not to crush my fist into Kev’s face as my bicep popped and strained in an attempt to hold him still. The tip of the blade pierced the skin below his left ear and arced a bloody path across his throat to his right ear. As his neck opened like a purse, the man’s wide eyes glassed over, a gurgle bubbling from his exposed windpipe. Stepping back I let him crumple to the concrete, took out the handkerchief from my top pocket and wiped the man’s blood off my hands. Thanks for taking one for the team, Kev.

Donut Dave stepped out of the shadows to my side.

Over to you, Dave.

All’s good, Boss.

I needed a drink. A real drink.

Melody

"Don’t you dare call yourself the victim after what you’ve done." My fingernails curled into my palms. It would be so easy to slap her, to bury my fists in the bitch’s face and never stop. So easy, and yet I wouldn’t do it, couldn’t do it. I wasn’t that person. Never violent, always the sodding masochist. It needed to change. I needed to change. To survive.

My mother peered around the doorway, looking between us both with an anxious frown. Everything okay, love?

Yes, Mum. This is a friend of Coop’s. She’s not stopping.

Oh. Mum wiped her hands on a tea towel and smiled. Can I get you a cuppa?

Coop’s whore did at least look contrite as she declined my mother’s hospitality. Thank you, no. I just wanted a quick word with Mel then I’ll be off.

"Righty-ho. I’ll leave you girls