The Hunted

by KERRY BARNES

Now that Eric knew there were no men in the house, he felt brave. ‘Let’s kick that door in and drag her out. It’ll give them something to be shitting themselves about.’ Just as he was about to head towards the hallway, Mike’s hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and fiercely yanked him back.

  ‘What the fuck!’ shrieked Eric.

  Willie looked away. He knew Eric had cocked up again, just by the look of anger in Mike’s eyes.

  ‘What the hell are you doing? Jesus! Eric, since when do we hurt dear ol’ mums? You are one stupid dickhead.’

  Red-faced and boiling, Eric glared at Mike. ‘And since when did they abide by the rules, fucking killing Staffie’s dog, eh?’

  ‘Keep ya bloody voice down. I don’t want the ol’ girl ’aving a bleedin’ heart attack. Now, we’re gonna wait ’cos she’s expecting her boy back. From what she said, it’s my guess that they’ve upped and gone, but they’ll return for her.’ He pointed his finger up at the ceiling. ‘I mean, think about it. If they believe we’re on the rampage, they ain’t gonna leave her behind, are they?’

  Still sulking, Eric replied, ‘Who knows, Mikey? You seem to know probably more than they do. So tell me, then, if they left her behind, why would they come back for her?’ he asked, with a knowing smirk on his face. He wasn’t going to let his brother walk all over him.

  ‘Well, think about it. If I asked our mum to do something and she refused, I’d get you to go in and ask, wouldn’t I, or the other way around?’

  Eric was seething; this was getting so personal now. He knew exactly what Mike was getting at. Their mother, Gloria, would do anything Mike asked of her, but she always questioned him, since he was the son who messed up all the time. ‘Why can’t you think more like your brother?’ she would say. And Arthur, their father, was even worse with his comments. One of his favourite pieces of advice was ‘Take a leaf out of Mikey’s book, and you won’t go wrong there.’

  Thinking of his mother, he wondered why she had to be so patronizing towards him. When she rubbed his arm or hugged him, she always gave him that sympathetic expression followed by, ‘Something will come along for you, just you see.’ She used that saying for everything: girlfriends, a good lucky earner, or even a bargain motor. But her advice never worked because Mike seemed to have all the luck.

  Willie could feel the tension building and decided to intervene. ‘I’m gonna wait in the living room to see if any of the brothers pull up.’

  Mike stared at Eric. ‘You go with him. I’ll wait in the kitchen, in case they come in through the back door.’

  Eric was still smarting. ‘Why are you doing that? We’ll see them if they pull up, won’t we?’ His tone was airing on sarcasm.

  ‘Eric, look at the fucking garden.’ He pointed out of the kitchen window. ‘That rear fence has a gate. They could easily come in from the road the other side, yeah?’

  Once again, Eric realized he’d been caught out. Another thing Mike was good at was casing a joint. If he hadn’t been a criminal, he would have made a good detective. Just as Eric walked off in a huff, Mrs Harman appeared, standing there in the hallway. Mike quickly held his hands up, showing he was harmless.

  Doris had heard all the commotion downstairs and was about to give the person she thought was Harry a piece of her mind. At that moment, she was drying her hands on her pinny and not taking her eyes off the big man.

  ‘It’s okay, love. Me name’s Mike. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.’ He edged forward as if he was trying to calm a rabid dog. Yet Doris seemed unperturbed.

  ‘Excuse me, but my cakes need taking out of the oven.’

  Willie appeared. Having been so intent on keeping a lookout, he hadn’t heard her come down the stairs or past the living room.

  Although this tall man with a deep scar down his face, twisting an ugly jagged knife in his hand, would probably frighten the life out of most people, his presence left her unruffled.

  ‘Put that away,’ Mike ordered. Willie instantly shoved it in his belt.

  Doris calmly turned back to face Mike. ‘I need to get to the oven.’

  Mike was almost taking up the doorframe. ‘Oh, sorry, love,’ he said, as he stepped aside.

  Doris waddled past, picked up the oven gloves from the small square table in the middle of the kitchen, and opened the oven door, where she removed two trays of fairy cakes.

  Meanwhile, the three men looked at each other in confusion. Their mothers would have been screaming blue murder. Unhurriedly, she placed the trays on the table and closed the oven door.

  Rarely did anything faze Mike, but, on this occasion, Mrs Harman had completely wrong-footed him. ‘Shall I put the kettle on, Mrs Harman?’

  Eric just shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘Well, how funny is that. I can only assume that you’ve come to take some sort of revenge on one or more of my sons, but there you are, offering to make tea.’ She made a huffing sound. ‘Not even they do that. Well, yes, I suppose I would like a tea, thank you.’

  Mike pulled out a chair for her to take a seat, and then he turned to fill the kettle. Willie leaned against the doorframe. ‘Sorry, missus. I didn’t mean to give you a fright.’

  Eric was rolling his eyes. ‘I’m gonna wait in the car.’

  Mike nodded.

  ‘So my sons have upset you, I take it?’

  ‘I’m afraid they have. But, listen, I won’t take it out on you.’

  Mrs Harman reminded him of his own mother. They were roughly the same age, although his own mum was always dressed in the latest fashionable clothes. She wore jewellery and never left the bedroom without a coat of pink lipstick.

  This lady, though, couldn’t be more different, with her flat grey hair, a thick waist, swollen ankles, and her old-fashioned twinset-and-pearls look. And the sad, tired expression, no doubt from years of being worn down, certainly accentuated the difference.

  The kettle boiled, and Mike spotted the teapot and one china teacup and saucer; the scene reminded him of sitting in his grandmother’s kitchen. ‘Tea should only be drunk from a china teacup, or porcelain if ya can afford it,’ she would say. He remembered her dainty cup with the floral pattern and the chip on the side. He also recalled the day he presented her with a whole tea set that he had nicked from Alders. Her eyes lit up and she hugged him. ‘Aw, little Mikey. Now I can have all me mates over for tea.’ She always called him little Mikey, even when he was six feet tall. He poured the tea just how his grandmother liked it and presented it to Mrs Harman.

  ‘There ya go, love.’

  Doris looked at the colour of the liquid and smiled. ‘Lovely, that. It’s just how I like it.’ She gracefully picked up the drink and sipped it. As she gently placed the cup down, she sighed. ‘So, may I ask what the boys have done now? I’m assuming it’s bad.’ She huffed again. ‘But then, it always is, with my lot.’

  ‘You’ve no need to be involved. It’s just business. I’m sure they know the rules.’

  ‘The rules? No, they don’t know the rules, love, I can assure you of that. Um … do you make your own mum a cuppa, then?’

  Mike gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Of course I do. Why do you ask?’

  Doris’s eyes clouded over. ‘Does she do your washing?’

  Mike frowned. ‘Of course not.’ Then it dawned on him; she was comparing him to her own sons. ‘I look after my mum. I take her for dinner every Sunday, if I can, and I wouldn’t have my dear ol’ mum lift a finger.’

  ‘Yeah, well, see, that’s where my boys don’t know the rules. In fact, if I’m brutally honest, they’re all shits, even my daughter. All out for herself, she is. You’d think I’d have had at least one good egg among ’em, but, no, they all take after their father, and he’s a real horrible bastard.’

  Mike pulled out a chair and sat opposite; he sensed she needed to get her annoyance off her chest. ‘Do they give you a hard time, then?’

  She took another sip of tea. ‘Hard time? Ha, that’s an understatement. D’ya know, Harry told
me to go and stay with me sister up in Bath. Obviously, he was expecting trouble. I wanted to hit him with the saucepan. My dear sister has been dead for six months. My only ally, my Tilda, and that fat git didn’t even remember she’d passed away. They’re selfish, my lot. They come in this very kitchen with their bags of washing, their tans glowing from their holidays abroad, and then they slap down their shitty clothes for me to scrub. And as for Scottie, I know he has money, and yet he still goes through my purse and nicks me pension. That ain’t right, is it? You wouldn’t do that, would you?’

  Mike had a sudden thought.

  ‘Don’t they offer to take you on holiday? I always make sure my mum has a good two-week break away somewhere nice.’

  ‘Ha, my kids have never even offered to take me for a Sunday lunch somewhere nice, let alone a bleedin’ holiday. I ain’t been away since I went to Bath with me sister, what, four years ago now.’

  ‘That’s not fair, is it?’ He softened his gruff voice.

  ‘Life ain’t fair, love. I should know,’ she replied, taking another sip of her tea. She looked up at him. ‘D’ya treat ya mum on her birthday an’ all?’

  Mike smiled. ‘Yeah, I do, every year. I drive my mum to a place called Rye. It’s beautiful, with cobbled streets and views as far as the eye can see. She loves the little tea shops, the antique shops, and the fish and chip shop. She stays in my seventeenth-century cottage and just enjoys soaking up the atmosphere.’

  Doris was staring off into space. ‘Ahh, it does sound wonderful. She must be so proud of you.’

  ‘Well, I tell ya what. Why don’t you go and pack a little suitcase and I’ll treat you to a nice stay in the very same cottage? Call it a birthday treat, seeing that your own boys haven’t seen fit to spoil ya.’

  She blinked and came out of her daydream. ‘What? Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. Besides, I don’t even know you, and, well, I was just having a moan, really. ’Ark at me, chatting away, and you being all nice, an’ all. Suppose you’re really ’ere to bash me boys? Anyway, what have they done now?’

  Mike sighed. He wanted to get the dear old lady away from the potential scene of a bloodbath. ‘Yes, Mrs Harman, I’ll probably give ’em a clump, but, really, I just want a word. They did something unforgivable, I’m afraid. In fact, it was very cruel.’

  Doris nodded, genially. ‘Sounds like them.’ She stared at Mike and frowned, as her head slowly tilted to the side. ‘Are you by any chance related to Arthur Regan?’

  Mike sat up straight. ‘Why?’

  Her eyes seemed to drift off again. Maybe it was her escape to another time or another place. ‘You just remind me so much of him, that’s all. Now, he really was a gentleman, but he was a rogue, all the same.’

  ‘Knew him well, did you?’

  Unexpectedly, the tears in Doris’s eyes welled up. ‘Yes, I did. He was the love of my life, he was, before Frank came on the scene. Oh, ’ark at me. Never mind. It’s all in the past.’

  His mind now all over the place, Mike felt his heart beating fast. Could this woman, the mother of his archenemy, have once had a thing with his father? He was dying to know.

  ‘Was this Arthur married then?’

  She smiled and blinked away the tears. ‘Oh no. We were very young. Never mind. Anyway, enough of all this. I don’t think any of my sons will come back. They’re too concerned with saving their own arses. I know you’re probably wondering why I’m not running around frantic, like, or trying to escape to call them, but, the truth is, I really don’t care. I really and truly don’t care what happens to them. They were never my children. They were Frank’s – well, theoretically. I think I was just an oven to cook his evil seeds. There, I’ve said it, now. Look, I’m off to the church. You can stay and wait, but I bet they won’t show their faces.’

  Mike grabbed her hand. ‘Listen, Mrs Harman. Please. You deserve better. You’ll love Rye.’ He winked and tapped her hand. ‘Go on, pack a bag, and let me spoil you.’

  ‘Oh, I dunno.’

  She was tugging at his heartstrings, and Mike wanted her away from the potentially violent situation more than ever. ‘The truth is, Mrs Harman, yes, I am related to Arthur. I’m his son.’

  Her eyes widened, as she stared. ‘I just knew it. You’re the spit out of his mouth. Oh my God. It’s like looking at him years ago.’ She pulled off the tea towel that covered the cakes and wiped away her tears. ‘He was a cheeky bugger in his younger years, but he had such a kind heart. I can see you are so like him.’

  After blowing her nose, she rose from the table. ‘Well, what have I got to lose? Give me a minute, and I’ll take you up on that offer.’

  She looked around at the plain boring kitchen that she’d scrubbed clean every day just for something to do. With a sudden spring in her step, she hurried up the stairs and busied herself, throwing all of her best clothes into a small 1950s suitcase.

  Willie chuckled. ‘What the fuck was all that about, Mike?’

  Mike took one of the cakes and bit into it. It tasted very bitter. Popping open the bin, he spat the mouthful into it.

  ‘Willie, we’re gonna wreak carnage on the Harmans, and I want her away from ’ere. The poor cow. But I have another plan up my sleeve. I’ll tell ya later.’

  He helped himself to a glass of water, swirling it around his mouth before spitting it down the sink. ‘Jesus, she might be a sweet ol’ girl, but she can’t fucking bake.’

  He covered the remains of the cakes with the tea towel and waited for Mrs Harman to return. Entering the kitchen with her face flushed and her suitcase in her hand, she reminded him of Mary Poppins. It was her overcoat, hat, and brolly. His heart went out to her.

  ‘Right, let’s get you that nice holiday break.’ He held open the back door and followed her along the side of the house. ‘Now, you wait here, while I fetch the car.’

  Doris looked up and down the road, eager to get away from the drab street. All the years she had lived there and not one neighbour had ever nodded or said ‘Hello’. They always ducked their heads down, afraid of her mouthy kids.

  What a life she’d led, what with Frank and his philandering and aggressive ways, and then her demanding sons and her selfish daughter. She sighed. How she would have loved a son like Arthur’s boy. She could have had that life too, if it hadn’t been for Frank worming his way into her affections and then almost raping her. Whilst some memories are best forgotten, she knew that that one never would be, even though it was such a long time ago now.

  Chapter 5

  Mike tapped on the car window, making Eric jump. ‘Listen, change of plan, we’re going to take Mrs Harman to Rye.’

  Lowering the window, Eric screwed up his face. ‘What the fuck for?’

  Mike was getting irritated with his brother. He expected Eric to be one step ahead and not have to explain everything. ‘Look. There’s gonna be a fucking war. Firstly, I want Mrs Harman out of the picture, and, secondly, with her on the missing list, it may well drag the Harmans out of their hiding hole. Got me?’ He tapped Eric’s face.

  ‘It’s a long way, Mikey. Have we got time for all of this?’

  ‘Eric, you move over. I’m gonna drive you and Willie back to the house, and then I’ll take Mrs Harman down to Rye.’

  ‘I think, Mikey, you’re best at home putting the plans in place. I’ll take her down to Rye.’

  Mike sensed his brother was getting anxious about the violent battle they were planning to have, and he rolled his eyes. ‘No, Eric. Your moody face is pissing me off, and I don’t want her feeling uncomfortable, so just do as I say. Now, move over. I’m driving. Willie, you help her in the back and keep her sweet.’

  Eric did as he was told, still with the strops. Mike turned the car around and parked directly outside the Harmans’ house. When Mrs Harman came into view, Willie jumped out, opened the door, and bowed. ‘Your carriage awaits.’

  Doris smiled and hurried inside. She took one last look at the house that she’d grown to detest and made herself comfort
able, whilst Willie took her suitcase and placed it in the boot.

  ‘All set, Mrs Harman?’ asked Mike, looking in his rear-view mirror.

  ‘Please, love, call me Doris.’

  ‘Okay, Doris. Now, I’m just gonna drop off these two, and we’ll be on our way.’

  Once Mike had left Willie and Eric back at his house, Doris joined him in the front, and they headed to Rye. He thought about his own mum. She would never in a million years have sided with the enemy. What had those boys of Doris’s done to her that was so awful? He could only guess she’d been bullied. The house itself spoke volumes: the tired old kitchen that hadn’t been updated since the seventies; the woodchip wallpaper painted time and time again; even the kettle was a bargain-basement one. He would never have let his mum live like that. No, not while he had a penny would his mother live like a pauper.

  * * *

  Harry had stopped sweating by the time he reached Broadstairs. Paris was asleep, her head tilted to the side and her open mouth dribbling. He was pleased she’d dozed off; he needed to get his thoughts together. He glanced at his phone in the holder and felt anxious. Vinnie was supposed to contact Scottie and make sure his father had got their mother out of the house. Impatiently, he pressed redial, the last call he’d made to his father’s phone. It rang four times and then went over to voicemail. Paris stirred before settling down against the sumptuous leather interior. He then tried Vinnie’s number; luckily, within two rings, it was answered.

  ‘Harry, what the fuck’s happening? I ain’t heard a word from any of ya. What’s going on?’

  Vinnie, a year younger than Harry, was more laid-back. He walked and talked more slowly than Harry. ‘I can’t find Farver. He ain’t at the old slag’s house, and he ain’t in the boozer either. Scottie’s on the missing list. So, I’m now on me way to Muvver’s.’

  Harry bashed the steering wheel. ‘For fuck’s sake, what’s the matter with ’em all? Christ, when I get hold of Scottie, I’m gonna wring his scrawny neck. I left a message for him to call me.’

  There was a pause before Vinnie muttered, ‘Ya don’t think the Regans have got him, do ya?’