The Reprisal

by Kerry Kaya

  “Of course I loved him,” Stella spat back.

  “Well then, grow a fucking back bone.” She turned back to face the windscreen and pointed toward the brothel, her voice a lot softer than it had been previously. “The man who killed our family is in there. Are you going to sit idly by and do nothing?”

  “We could always phone the police,” Katie volunteered.

  Cathy laughed. It was a nasty cackle that resounded around the car. “What, and let him get away with a slap on the wrist? No, I don’t think so.”

  Katie shrugged her shoulders, and placing her hand on her tiny bump, she looked at her mother with frightened eyes.

  “Thanks to him,” Cathy jerked her thumb toward the building, “your baby will never know his or her father. Where’s your loyalty, Kate? You were so close to your cousins and you caused fucking ructions to be with Jaden, and what, now that they’re gone, dead, it’s a case of out of sight out of mind?”

  As Katie shook her head, tears filled her eyes. “Of course not.”

  “Well then, you know as well as I do that we have to do this.” Resuming her position, Cathy gave the brothel one final long look, before starting the ignition. “With or without you, he is going to pay,” she muttered to no one in particular.

  * * *

  Leaning back in the seat, Charlie rested one hand on the steering wheel, while his free hand held a mobile phone to his ear. Having watched the little brunette climb into Cathy Mooney’s car, he relayed the women’s movements back to Lucas and Darren. Even he could see that they were in over their heads, and as Lucas had stated, Devan Barkley was a slippery bastard with the morals of a complete and utter cunt, and that was putting it mildly.

  Ending the call, he tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat and started the ignition. From a safe distance, he trailed Cathy’s car, just as he’d done every day this week.

  * * *

  Slamming down the telephone, Lucas was incensed.

  “Just what the fuck is she playing at?”

  “Fuck knows.” Darren shook his head incredulous. “Surely, she can’t be in cahoots with Barkley.”

  Lucas raised his eyebrows at the slur. “Of course she fucking isn’t.” He stood up, walked the length of the portacabin, and placed his hands on the far wall, his strong arms supporting his weight while he thought the situation through. “She’s going after him.” He spun around his icy blue eyes wide with disbelief. “She’s actually going after Barkley.”

  Darren screwed up his face. The very thought of a woman taking on a man like Barkley, and coming out on top, was laughable. It just didn’t happen in their world. “He’ll crush her and laugh while doing it.”

  “The stupid, stupid mare.” Slumping down on a chair, Lucas laughed with disbelief. “She can’t be fucking serious. She can’t think that she can take him on and win.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Darren blew out his cheeks. “You need to warn her off. You have to stop her, mate.”

  Lucas raised his eyebrows. That was a lot easier said than done. Darren didn’t know Cathy like he did, and it was safe to say that there was no love lost on her part.

  * * *

  Marty was sulking. Once upon a time, he would have rubbed his hands together with glee at the opportunity to work the brothels, but that was before—before Mooney had turned him into the monster that he was today.

  After safely maneuvering his way into the back office with only the bare minimum of girls seeing his scarred face, he closed the door behind him, sat down heavily behind the desk, held his head in his hands, and wept at the unfairness of his life.

  A scream resonated throughout the house, and gripping onto the desk so tight that his fingertips had turned deathly white, Marty’s body froze. He couldn’t deal with the problem, couldn’t leave the office, couldn’t let anyone see his disfigurement.

  “Marty.” Out of breath, Monica slammed open the door to the office. “That’s your cue to get off of your fat arse and see what the problem is.” She jerked her thumb behind her to where the scream had originated from.

  Still he didn’t move, and throwing up her hands, she stormed through the house. “Jesus fucking wept,” she shouted out at the top of her voice. “So much for a fucking heavy. You just wait until I tell Devan about this.”

  Marty wept even harder.

  Chapter 26

  Angie eyed the wad of money that had been placed on her kitchen table wearily.

  “There’s five-hundred nicker there, and once you’ve been to see Cathy, there’s another fifteen-hundred waiting for you.” Lucas pulled a large bundle of cash from his jacket pocket.

  “And why can’t you go and see Cathy yourself?” Tearing her eyes away from the money, Angie raised an eyebrow.

  Slipping the money back into his pocket, Lucas shrugged. “I doubt she would see me, to be honest, but you being her mother, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting into the house.”

  Still eyeing the money, Angie sighed. “She won’t listen to me. Nothing I say to her will cloud her judgment when it comes to Paul. The girl was besotted with the man, you know that as well as I do.”

  “Have you heard of a man named Devan Barkley?” Lucas leaned across the table.

  “Can’t say that I have.” Pursing her lips, Angie looked away.

  “How about his mother, Cristiana Barkley? She was a friend of Samson’s, and I use that term loosely.”

  Angie snapped her head toward him. “Of course I’ve heard of her,” she snarled, “the slut. I had to sit back and watch that woman throw herself at him, night after night.”

  “Then you will know that Devan is her and Samson’s son?”

  “Can’t say that I knew.” Angie swallowed deeply. It was a lie, and they were both well aware of that fact.

  “Well, Cathy has managed to get herself involved with him.”

  “What on earth for?” Sitting upright, Angie was aghast. “Why would she have anything to do with Devan?” She paused and her eyes widened. “You don’t mean romantically, do you? I mean, her and him?” She pressed her forefingers together to emphasize her point.

  “Would make my job a lot easier if she was.” Lucas muttered underneath his breath. He rubbed at his temples. “She believes that Devan killed Paul and the boys.”

  Angie recoiled backward, her eyes wide with shock. “And did he?”

  Lucas shrugged. “The point is, Devan believes that Paul killed his father, Samson.” He spread open his arms. “An eye for an eye springs to mind.”

  “Huh.” Angie snorted. “Should have known that Paul would be at the root of all this upset.” She eyed him across the table. “You know that he killed my Samson, don’t you, murdered him?”

  Lucas nodded. “And I also know that Samson was Cathy’s father. Paul told me, and apparently Samson had told him.”

  “And the only person who doesn’t know is Cathy,” Angie sighed.

  “And that, Angie, is where you come in.” He tapped the bundle of cash. “I want you to tell her.”

  “Me?” She poked herself in the chest. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because if you don’t, Cathy is going to find herself in a lot of trouble.” His voice was hard, making Angie swallow deeply once more. “Five-hundred now,” he reminded her, “and another fifteen-hundred once you’ve told her.”

  Angie eyed up the money. She could do a lot with two-thousand pounds—endless bingo trips, nights out at the pub, and for once in her life, she would actually be flush. “Go on then,” she said, “I’ll do it.”

  Lucas smiled. “I had a feeling you would say that.”

  The quip was not lost on Angie.

  Chapter 27

  Angie was put out and it showed. On the off chance, she had decided to pay a visit to her daughter, and was shocked to discover that she already had a house full of guests. Well, since Cathy was now in the right frame of mind to see visitors, where was her invite? Surely, she should have had some sort of precedence over her daughters in-laws. After
all, she was her mother, she was the woman who had birthed her and subsequently raised her, and all by herself she might add.

  “Mum.” Cathy hastily kissed her mother’s powdery cheek and ushered her out to the garden.

  Looking around her, Angie nodded her head at her daughters visitors. “I’m not intruding, am I?” she asked innocently.

  Cathy laughed, albeit, it sounded flat to Angie’s ears. “Don’t be daft, Mum. Take a seat.”

  Angie did as she was asked, although it didn’t fail to escape her notice that the women had become unusually quiet since her arrival. She’d bet her last penny that she had interrupted something. However, what that was though, she didn’t have a clue.

  “Are you my nan?” A little boy of about five tugged at the hem of her leather skirt.

  Both Cathy and Donna shrieked with laughter.

  “Come away, Connor.” Still laughing, Donna dragged her son away. “Angie isn’t your nan, and you know full well she isn’t.”

  “She looks like my nan,” Connor answered, with only the innocence children have. “She’s old like Nanny Von.”

  Angie bristled at the remark. To be called old was one thing, but to be told she looked like Yvonne Cassidy was a downright insult, and she poked her tongue out at the child.

  “Take no notice, Mum.” Winking across to Donna, Cathy stifled the urge to laugh. “You don’t look a day over sixty.”

  Angie looked up at her daughter with a steely glint in her eyes. “Well, that’s charming, that is,” she spat.

  Thrusting a glass of wine into her mother’s hands, Cathy smiled. “It was a joke,” she said, “that’s all.” She nodded at the women. “You know everyone here, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Angie’s answer was crisp as her eyes settled on Donna. “Some better than others.”

  Cathy raised her eyebrows. “Not today, Mum, please.”

  Sipping at her wine, Angie sighed. Her daughter was one touchy so and so, and she wondered briefly where she had inherited that particular trait from, because it sure as hell wasn’t from her.

  “Who would like a top up?” Collecting the empty wine bottle from the patio table, Cathy smiled at the women.

  “I would.” Holding out her empty wine glass, Stella stretched out her slim body on a sun lounger. “This is the life, eh, Ange?”

  Nodding her head, Angie followed her daughter into the kitchen, and leaning back against the worktop, she looked around her. No wonder the kitchen was her daughter’s pride and joy. It was beautiful, all black granite and chrome, truly stunning.

  “You know, Cath, you’re a good girl, and I’m proud of how you turned out.”

  Cathy laughed lightly. “Leave it out, Mum,” she said as she collected a chilled bottle of wine from the American fridge.

  “No, I’m being serious. I’m proud of you.” Angie clasped her daughter’s hand in hers. “I wasn’t there for you when you were growing up,” she looked down at the floor, “not like a real mum should be.”

  Eyeing her mother suspiciously, Cathy lowered her voice. “What’s brought this on, Mum. You’re not ill, are you?”

  “No, of course I’m bleeding well not.” She flapped her hand dismissively and reached out for her wine glass. “It’s just, well … your dad.”

  Cathy’s breath caught in her throat. “What about him?” It was the first time Angie had ever mentioned her father, and a ripple of unease flowed through her body. “I don’t want to see him, Mum, not now, not after all these years.”

  Angie laughed softly. “Would be a bit bleeding hard, love. The poor bugger has been dead for over twenty years.”

  “Then why bring him up now?” Cathy screwed up her face. “I’ve done all right this far, not knowing who he is.”

  “It’s the thought of those kiddies,” she nodded toward the garden to where Donna and Katie were sitting, “two innocent fatherless babies, and well, it made me realise you had been fatherless, too.”

  Cathy narrowed her eyes, watching as Angie gulped at her wine.

  “I should have told you who he was.” She shook her head. “I don’t even know why I didn’t, really. He didn’t want me to, I suppose. He didn’t want it made common knowledge, but I should have insisted, I can see that now.” She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I can see the error of my ways.”

  “Mum.”

  “No.” Angie held up her hand. “I need to get it off of my chest. I need you to know where you came from, darling.”

  “Go on then.” Cathy swallowed deeply. All of a sudden, her throat felt dry and she wished that she’d had the sense to pour herself out a tumbler of alcohol. She had a sinking feeling that she was going to need a stiff drink of some sort.

  “I loved him, just know that, it’s important, Cath. I really loved him, and I like to think that he loved me, too, in his own way.” She shrugged her slender shoulders once more. It was a lie she had told herself so many times over the years. Deep down, she knew that Samson had never had any real feelings for her, not really. She sucked in her bottom lip. “He was murdered, and …”

  “Murdered?” Cathy’s mind reeled. “How? Why?”

  Angie shook her head dismissively. The why’s weren’t important. “I think it was your Paul.” She clutched Cathy’s hand. “I think that he killed him.”

  Snatching her hand away, Cathy recoiled away from her mother. “What did you just say?”

  “Paul.” Angie sighed. “I think he killed him. Why, I don’t know. Maybe he guessed the truth, guessed he was your father.” She shook her head sadly.

  “Why are you telling me this, Mum?” Cathy’s voice was high, and her throat constricted. “Why are you doing this to me now?”

  “Because you need to know the truth, darling.” She recalled the speech Lucas had insisted she deliver. “You need to know what he was capable of, and you need to stop seeing him through rose-tinted glasses. I know that you are planning something. I’m not a fool, Cath. I’ve heard the whispered conversations, I’ve seen the signs, and I want you to know that Paul isn’t worth you going to prison for. He was a vicious thug and he would have moulded those boys into miniature replicas of himself as time went on.”

  Gripping onto the butler sink, Cathy’s fingertips had turned white. “And what about my boys? Are they not worth me seeking revenge?” She turned her head and looked up at her mother through hooded eyes. “Are they not worth going to prison for?”

  Angie sighed. Since she hadn’t been blessed with natural maternal instincts, she was unable to answer. Would she have gone to prison for her daughter? Of course she wouldn’t. The very notion would never have even occurred to her.

  “My boys …” Straightening up, Cathy began to wash the glasses in the sink. Her movements were rigid as she slammed the washed glasses down onto the draining board. “Unlike you, Mum, my boys were my life. I would have killed for them. I would have died for them.”

  “And is that what you are planning?” Angie grasped her daughter’s wrist and spun her around to face her. “Is that what you are planning to do, kill someone?”

  Cathy didn’t answer.

  “My God, you are, aren’t you?” She shook her head sadly. “You’re your father’s daughter all right.” She lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke, all the while, studying her daughter. “Samson, Samson Ivers, was your father, darling.”

  “No.” Digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand, Cathy’s head began to swim. No, it couldn’t be true, and as the realization of her mother’s words finally hit home, she looked across to Angie, her face a mask of hatred. “You’re lying,” she spat.

  “It’s the truth, darling. Samson was your father and I can see you in him; you look alike.” It was said with a sense of pride. “You have a half-brother, too, Devan Barkley. He’s a few years younger than you, grew up on the estate. Maybe you knew him?”

  Cathy blanched at the words, and closing her eyes tight, a wave of sickness washed over her. If what Angie said was true, then the past could so e
asily have been avoided. Her Paul and her boys would still have been alive if they’d all known the truth, if they could have embraced Devan into the family. If they could have acknowledged his existence, then surely, it would have swayed the course of events that had stolen her family from her.

  Curling her hands into fists, Cathy screamed at her mother. “You vicious bitch.” Using her considerable strength, she pushed Angie in the chest, causing her to crash heavily against the worktop. “This was all your doing. If it wasn’t for you, my boys would still be here.”

  Angie’s mouth dropped open. Never had her daughter physically lashed out at her before. In fact, she’d always considered her to be meek and mild, weak even.

  “Now get out.” None too gently, Cathy dragged her mother toward the front door. “Get out and don’t you ever show your face at my door again. This was all your doing. You killed them; you killed my babies.”

  Her mouth open wide in shock, Angie fell to her knees. “Cathy,” she cried.

  “No.” Standing over her mother, Cathy looked down at the woman she had loved and loathed in equal measures for the majority of her life. “All my life, I’ve made excuses for you. I told myself that you loved me, even when you put yourself first, put your mates first. Even the pub came before me. As long as you were all right, then fuck everyone else, and that included me. Well, mother,” she snarled, “that isn’t how I live my life. My sons were my world, they were the air I lived and breathed. Everything I did was for them and they knew it, too. Not once did my boys ever have to wonder if I loved them, which is more than can ever be said about you.”

  Tears glistened Angie’s eyes. No amount of money was worth losing her daughter for. Only it was too late to take back what was already done. “Of course I love you, Cath; you’re my daughter for Christ’s sake.”

  Cathy shook her head. “I’m done, Mum, done with you.” She looked to the sky and sighed. “I should have got shot of you years ago. Paul asked me to, many a time, but me being me, I put up with you. I thought you’d change. Well, Mum, this just about takes the biscuit, and as for Samson Ivers, he is not and never will be my father.” With those parting words, she slammed the front door closed.