by Kerry Kaya
Feeling that his tummy had begun to rumble, he suddenly realised just how hungry he was. Beside him in a plastic carrier bag, was the packed lunch his mum had made him. He delved his hand inside and pulled out the Tupperware box. Prising open the plastic lid, he lifted out a cheese sandwich and sank his teeth into the thick slices of buttered bread.
Aware of activity behind him, Spencer lazily turned his head. The smile across his face turned to a frown when he saw a group of men approaching. Smartly dressed, they looked out of place, and without a fishing rod between them, even he could see that they weren’t there for the fish. He swallowed down the last mouthful of his sandwich, then pushed himself to his feet.
“Are you Spencer?” one of them called out.
Unsure of exactly what was going on, Spencer narrowed his eyes.
“I said, are you Spencer?”
Spencer shrugged his shoulders, and as they moved closer, he took a step backwards, causing him to lose his footing and slip down the muddy bank.
“Who wants to know?” He threw out his arms in a bid to regain his balance, and ankle deep in water, he glared at the men. All thanks to them, his brand-new trainers were now ruined.
“Mr. Bannerman wants a word with you.”
Bannerman. Hearing the name was the equivalent of a red rag to a bull, and puffing out his chest, Spencer squared his broad shoulders and clenched his fists. If they wanted him, then they would have to come and get him.
* * *
Pulling into a parking space, Fletch looked across the park. “He better be here,” he said to Stevie.
“He’s gotta be.” Flinging open the door, Stevie stepped outside the car. “Your mum said he’d gone fishing, and let’s face it, we’ve looked everywhere else.”
“Yeah, I know.” Fletch bit down on his lip. All he wanted to do was find his brother and get him back to Stevie’s flat, as quickly as he could, and with the minimum of fuss. He pocketed the car keys, and together they set off across the park.
“So, what are you going to tell your mum? I mean, won’t she want to know where Spence is? It’s gonna seem a bit fucking weird if he just disappears off of the face of the earth, ain’t it?”
Fletch shrugged his shoulders. If truth were told, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I dunno, I’ll think of something though, mate.”
They continued walking, each lost in their own thoughts.
“Fletch.”
The urgency in Stevie’s voice was enough to cause the blood to drain from Fletch’s face, and as he looked up, an ice-cold chill shot down the length of his spine.
“Is that a …” Leaving the sentence unsaid, Stevie thumped his best friend on the back and broke out into a run.
Up ahead of them, floating face down in the middle of the lake, was what appeared to be a body.
“It’s not him.” Fletch’s voice was high as he matched Stevie’s long strides. “It’s not him,” he screamed.
In unison, they jumped into the lake and swam forward. Oblivious to the icy cold water that saturated their clothes and stung their skin, they reached out for the lifeless form.
A sense of panic filled the air, and for just a few short moments, no words were spoken. Before they had even turned the body over, they knew who it was. There could be no mistaking Spencer’s lifeless frame.
“No!” Fletch roared, breaking the silence. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end, and his heart began to hammer wildly inside his chest. “Wake up, Spence,” he cried. “Come on, wake up.”
With great difficulty, they pulled the body from the lake, and taking one look at the gaping bullet wounds peppered across Spencer’s chest, Stevie promptly spun around and heaved.
Collapsing over his brother’s body, Fletch’s eyes were wide, and he tugged at his dark hair, almost pulling it out by the roots, so intense was his pain. “Help him,” he begged Stevie. “Phone for an ambulance. Do something.”
With his fist pressed to his mouth, Stevie shook his head. “He’s gone, Fletch.”
“No!” Fletch looked down at his brother. Spencer was still, too still. “Come on, Spence, wake up.”
“He’s gone, mate.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Stevie shivered.
“No, no he ain’t.” Tears slipped down Fletch’s cheeks. “Come on, Spence,” he cried, shaking him harder. “You’ve gotta wake up now.”
“Fletch.” Looking around him, Stevie’s eyes were wide. “Mate, we need to get out of here. If the old bill turns up …”
“No, I’m not leaving him.” His shoulders heaving, Fletch leaned across his brother’s body.
“Fletch.” Stevie tugged at his arm.
“I said, I’m not leaving him.” Batting Stevie away from him, Fletch’s face was a mask of pain. “Get the fuck outta here. Go on, get the fuck away from us.”
“I’ll get help.” As he raced back toward the car park, the heart-breaking sobs that came from his best friend spurred Stevie on.
Chapter 20
Jenny had been given a sedative, and still she screamed the house down. “Not my baby,” she cried, “not my baby.”
Slumped in the armchair, Fletch covered his ears. He couldn’t bear to hear the raw grief in her voice, believing all along, it was him who had caused her heartache. If only he had found his brother in time, then Spencer would still have been alive and well. His heart was broken in two, and the pain in his chest intensified.
“I’ll make us a cuppa.” Not knowing what else to do, Stevie excused himself.
“I can’t believe it.” Sitting at the kitchen table, Frank’s voice cracked. A mugging gone wrong was what the police suspected had happened, and he shook his head at the thought. Not once had it entered his mind to question the fact that Spencer had not only been carrying no valuables, but that he’d also been found floating, face down, in the middle of the lake, riddled with bullet holes. “He was only a kid, for fuck’s sake. What was he, twenty-two?”
“He’d just turned twenty-three.” Busying himself filling the kettle, Stevie could barely look in Frank’s direction.
“It’s a crying shame,” Frank answered. “A crying shame. She’ll never get over something like this,” he said, stabbing his finger toward the lounge. “And what about Fletch? How is he holding up?”
Stevie shrugged his shoulders. “How do you think? He’s still in shock, devastated.” He looked toward the lounge door. “I don’t think it’s even hit him yet.”
“Well, I hope they find the bastards and fucking hang em’ for this. It’s what they deserve.”
Rubbing at his temples, Stevie wandered back through to the lounge. He caught Fletch’s eye as he walked in, and silently came to stand with his back against the wall.
“Mum.” Getting up from his seat, Fletch sat down beside her on the sofa and took her cold hand into his. “You don’t need to go and identify the body. I’ll do it,” he volunteered.
“No.” Jenny shook her head. “I want to see my baby.” She glared around the room. “And if anyone so much as dares to try and stop me, then so God help you.”
He grasped her hand even tighter and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Mum, no one is going to try and stop you.”
Jenny tugged her hand free and shakily stood up. “I’m ready to see him now.”
“What, now? You don’t need to do it today.” Fletch’s eyes were wide. “We could go tomorrow morning.”
“I warned you,” Jenny growled. “Don’t try and stop me.” She pulled on her coat and turned to look at the police officer standing beside the living room door. “I want to see my son, now.”
Fletch watched her go, and turning to look at Stevie, he shook his head. This was all his fault, and the guilt he felt ate away at him like a cancer. His mum was never going to get over Spence’s death, and he knew for a certainty that he wouldn’t either.
* * *
George was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Clamped between his teeth was a large cigar, and as he puffed on it, he listened intently
to what was being said.
“The bastard got what he deserved.” The henchman touched the side of his battered face, before turning to look at his equally bruised colleague, stood beside him.
Both were big men with bull necks and broad shoulders. They could handle themselves, but begrudgingly, even they had to admit that Spencer had given back twice as much as they had dished out.
“We had no other choice, but to end him. The bastard took enough digs to sink a ship, and still he wouldn’t go down.”
As he lounged back in his chair and sucked on his cigar, a thick cloying fog filled the room. Elation coursed through George’s veins, and he chuckled loudly, as though he had just been told an amusing tale or joke. “You did well, boys.”
The fact that he had just been told that his youngest son had been brutally murdered, meant absolutely nothing to him. As far as he was concerned, it was a case of one down, one to go. Using the crook of his finger, he beckoned Pete toward him and spoke privately in his ear.
“See to the other one,” he barked out.
Straightening up, Pete paused for a brief moment before nodding his head. All along, he had known that George Bannerman was ruthless, and that just like his cousin Mickey, he had psychopathic tendencies. He walked toward the doorway, and turning to look over his shoulder, he couldn’t help but feel his blood run cold.
Sitting back in his office chair, as though he was sat holding court, George rested his elbows on the leather arms. His long fingers were curled around a balloon glass filled with brandy, and across his face was the hint of a dark smirk.
Looking Pete dead in the eyes, he lifted his chin in the air. “And make it soon,” he growled.
Pete swallowed deeply. The fact that George had just ordered the death of his last remaining son, troubled him, and pausing beside the front door, he took out his wallet, lifted out a photograph of his own two young sons, and felt his heart sink.
Without saying another word, he walked out of the mock Tudor mansion. At the end of the day, an order was an order, and unless he wanted to end up supporting a flyover, he knew he would see the task through to the bitter end. He had no other choice on the matter.
* * *
Looking through the glass partition at the mortuary, Jenny nodded her head to indicate that she was ready. As the purple sheet was lifted away from the body, she held her breath, silently praying that it had all been a terrible mistake, and that it wasn’t Spencer.
“It’s not him.” She began backing away from the glass.
“Please, take another look.” The police officer’s voice was gentle.
“No, I don’t need to.” Tears filled her eyes, and she clasped onto the front of the officer’s starched navy blue jacket. She was beginning to feel suffocated, and struggled to catch her breath. It felt as though the oak panelled walls surrounding the small room were closing in on her. “It’s not him.”
“Please, Mrs. Fletcher, take another look.”
Jenny turned her head. Her cheeks were sodden, and walking forward, she placed her palms on the glass. Even from this distance, she would recognise her son anywhere. After all, she was the one who’d carried him inside of her; she was the one who’d birthed him and nurtured him all of his life.
Her knees buckled from underneath her, and in the distance, she could hear a high-pitched wail. It took a few moments to realise the noise was coming out of her own mouth.
“My baby,” she screamed. “It’s my baby.”
Despite still trying to cling onto the glass, she was led out of the viewing room.
“I want to hold him,” she cried. “I’m his mum; he needs me.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the officer repeated, as he led her down a corridor toward where the panda car sat parked outside the mortuary entrance, ready and waiting to take her back home.
The words meant nothing to her. Why should they? They wouldn’t bring her son back. Nothing could ever bring him back.
In a daze, she climbed onto the back seat of the car, and opening up her handbag, she took out a tissue. Her baby was gone, and as fresh tears stung her eyes, blinding her vision, she took the tissue and balled it in her fist.
She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer, praying that whoever was responsible for killing her son, rotted in the pits of hell for all of eternity.
* * *
Three weeks later, it was the day of Spencer’s funeral. All through the service, Fletch had kept the tears at bay. Each time he felt a hard lump form in his throat, he swallowed it down, afraid that if he allowed the tears to fall, they would never stop.
They filed out of the church and walked behind the coffin, as Spencer was carried toward his final resting place. It was a nice plot with a large blossom tree and a wooden bench directly behind the graveside. Jenny had already told him that they could spend their afternoons there and chat with Spencer, to tell him their news, just as though he was still alive. He already knew that after today, he wouldn’t return. He just couldn’t bear the thought of his brother being underneath his feet, in the cold ground.
The coffin was lowered down, and as the pall bearers stood back, Jenny and Fletch stepped forward. They crouched down, grabbed a handful of earth, and threw it on top of the coffin.
Wiping the dirt from his hands, Fletch moved away from the graveside.
“Mum.” He clasped his hand around Jenny’s elbow. “I can’t do this; I’m going home.”
“Home?” Jenny’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t go home yet. What about the wake?”
“I’m not going.” Fletch shook his head.
“What are you talking about?” Jenny gestured to the crowd of mourners gathered at the graveside. The majority of them were business associates of Billy’s. “All these people, all of Spencer’s friends, they’ve come to pay their respects, to say goodbye. You can’t just leave them all here and go home.”
“Say goodbye?” Fletch hissed. “They didn’t even know Spence. They’re only here so it looks good for them, so they can brag that they were at Spencer Fletcher’s funeral. Ask any one of them to name something Spence liked and they won’t be able to answer you. Go on, ask them. They didn’t give a shit about him when he was alive, and they still don’t give a shit now that he’s dead.”
“Fletch,” Jenny gasped.
“No, Mum, it’s the truth.” He turned to walk away, and stopping abruptly, he retraced his steps. “All of this,” he swept his arm around him, “it’s a fucking farce. Is that how you want your son to be remembered?”
“I want my son to have a good send off.” Jenny bristled at his words. “My poor baby is dead, and I don’t want him to be forgotten, to be just another statistic, another mugging gone wrong. I want people to remember him, to remember this day, to remember that he was someone, that he was loved.”
“Mugging?” Fletch snapped his head toward her. “He was found, face down, in the middle of the lake. Are you that stupid that you actually believe he was mugged?”
Jenny’s mouth fell open, and her mind began to reel. Of course it was a mugging, that’s what the police had told her.
“You know, I blame you for this.” Two pink spots appeared on Fletch’s cheeks and his eyes flashed dangerously.
Taken aback, Jenny gawped at her eldest son. “What do you mean, you blame me?”
“This is all your fault. You knew what George was like, and you still stayed with him, still had kids with him. You should have aborted us the minute you found out you were pregnant. You should never have even allowed yourself to get pregnant in the first place. All because of you, the life you dragged us into, me and Spence have had to pay the price.” He knew he was going too far, but couldn’t stop the words from spewing out of his mouth. “So yeah, now you know, Mum. I blame you for everything that’s happened.”
“That’s not true.” Tears filled Jenny’s eyes.
“Ain’t it? Look at you in your fur coat, wearing all of your fucking gold. Who are you trying to impress, Mum? B
ecause it sure as hell ain’t me or Spencer.”
He turned and walked away, and stomping over the grass, he reached the roadside. Bypassing the funeral cars, he made his way toward the exit.
“Hey, Fletch,” Stevie called after him.
He carried on walking.
“Fletch.” Stevie caught up with him and pulled back on his arm, bringing him to a halt. “Where are you going, mate?”
“Away from here,” Fletch growled. “I can’t stand this. The whole fucking thing is a sham; it’s fucking bollocks. None of that lot gave a fuck about Spence when he was alive. All he ever was to them was a fucking joke—someone they could take the piss out of.”
Stevie looked across to the mourners. “Yeah, I know, mate. Just keeping up appearances, ain’t they? At the end of the day, they’re only here for the free booze.”
“Yeah well, I can’t stomach it,” Fletch spat. He tapped the side of his head. “You know as well as do that it was no mugging.” Slipping his hand into his jacket pocket, he took out a tiny white pill, popped it into his mouth, and swallowed it dry.
“Yeah, I know.” Stevie looked around him, checking that Jenny wasn’t within earshot. “You need to lay off the pills for a bit, mate. They ain’t gonna help, are they?”
“And you need to keep your nose out of my business,” Fletch barked back. “What am I, the pied fucking piper? Every time I turn around, you’re there, creeping up on me.” He screwed up his face. “What the fuck do you even want, eh? What do you want from me?”
“Look, I’m just worried about you, man. We’re all cut up about Spence …”
“Cut up?” Fletch growled back. “You ain’t got a clue. My brother’s dead, and he ain’t coming back.” He could feel a tightness in his chest, and closing his eyes, he massaged his temples, taking several deep breaths to steady the anger building inside him. “In here …,” he poked himself in the chest, “… in here, it never goes away, and that fucking man … that bastard Bannerman, is walking around like he ain’t got a care in the world.”