by KERRY BARNES
Gilly scratched her forehead and shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t think so, Mikey, ’cos she’d do anything to save her own skin. Yeah, I believe she would’ve gone to Spain.’
She could see Mike visibly shrink, his great big lintel-like shoulders now slumped.
‘She never went to Spain.’
Gilly put her hands to her mouth. ‘Jesus, this business. It wouldn’t lead to our little Ricky getting hurt, now, would it?’
Mike looked at the worry that suddenly cast a pall on Gilly’s face. Her eyes were alive with fear.
‘No, Gilly, ’course not.’ He didn’t really believe his own words, despite trying to put her mind at rest.
He took one more look around the tired kitchen. ‘It’s late, Gilly, so I’ll be off. Call me, if you can think of anywhere she may have gone, just in case she decided to find a place of her own instead of jumping on a plane to Spain.’
She struggled to stand up. For the first time, Mike had a very clear picture of his mother-in-law and not the crap that Jackie had been telling him. ‘Are you really in a lotta pain, Gilly?’
She gave a sad smile, showing her missing tooth. ‘Yeah, but old age gets to us all.’
The sad thing about it all was that Gilly wasn’t old at all. She was a woman in her early fifties who could have passed for seventy.
‘Once all this business is sorted out, I’ll come back and organize a bit of help. I’ll get you a new kitchen and freshen this place up. I’ll pay for a cleaner as well. I can’t have Ricky’s granny living like this.’
Her bony fingers clutched his arm. ‘You’re a good lad, Mikey. Ya muvver must be proud. It’s just a shame I can’t say the same about Jackie. But for me little grandson, I can, and I will. He’s a chip off the ol’ block, a mini you, if ya don’t mind me saying.’
He quickly pecked her on the cheek and was gone.
Chapter 6
Jackie woke up feeling groggy. A bottle of vodka and a line of charlie had kept her up until the small hours. Now she lay with the sun streaming in through the window of the tidy little house close to Ely, Cambridgeshire. She didn’t move her banging head but looked up at the small ceiling chandelier and smiled. As her hands slid across the warm empty space beside her, the smell of bacon tantalizing her taste buds, she closed her eyes. This was it: a new life. It was a future plan, but, considering the circumstances, it was now or never.
The only issue that had put a spanner in the works was the little boy, who she couldn’t stand. Her scheme hadn’t included him. The bedside clock flashed 11 a.m. and she thought she detected a whimpering sound, but it may just have been the gentle breeze whistling through the partly opened window. She cringed when she realized it was her son calling her.
‘Mummy, please can I come out now?’
After gritting her teeth, she sat upright. Trust Ricky to spoil the mood, the whiny brat, she thought.
Unsteady on her feet, she snatched the silk robe from the end of the chunky pine bedstead, slid her arms in, and wrapped it around her naked body. She unlocked the door and angrily yanked it open. Ricky stepped back when he saw the temper in her eyes and the vein on the side of her temple pulsating.
‘What’s the matter now, Ricky?’
He looked up and tried to smile, his face bruised from the hard slap she’d given him when she discovered he’d wet himself.
His punishment hadn’t ended there. In a fit of temper, she’d dragged him by his arm and marched him through the strange house and up the stairs. Forcefully, she’d pushed him into a small room with a mattress on the floor and a new quilt without a cover. When she’d slammed the door shut, and he’d heard a key being turned, his heart sank – he was locked in. After quietly waiting, while looking out of the tiny window until the skies turned dark, he’d gingerly tapped on the door and asked her to let him out. He was so hungry and thirsty, but his pleas were ignored. His mother was too engrossed in this strange man’s company. And he didn’t like what he was hearing either. This man, Scottie, whoever he was, was saying rude things to his mum.
Now, he was desperate. ‘Mummy, please can I have something to eat and drink? I’m hungry and I need the toilet again.’
She grabbed him by the shoulder, causing him to wince, and steered him into the bathroom. ‘Right, now, you, ya fucking baby, use that contraption there. It’s called a toilet. Don’t you dare go pissing on that mattress either, d’ya hear me? I want my new home to stay clean and fresh, not stinking of piss.’
Ricky gulped. A new house? No one had told him they were moving. Bursting to wee, he hurriedly tried his best, but, as he did, he experienced a terrible burning sensation that made his eyes water. ‘Mummy, it burns,’ he whispered, his face now screwed up in agony.
‘Yeah, well, that’s what happens when ya wet yaself. Now, go back to bed and I’ll fetch your breakfast when I’m ready.’
He wanted to ask if he could go downstairs, but from the look in her eyes, he wondered if he was better off keeping his mouth shut. Yet he was so thirsty, that he had to ask. ‘Please, Mummy, can I have a drink?’
Ignoring her son, she shoved him into the small room and locked the door behind him, intent on returning to the bathroom herself to have a wash, reapply her mascara, and spray on some expensive perfume. She slipped the silk gown just below her shoulders, pulled her hair to the side, and gazed at herself in the full-length mirror. Her pert tits sat high up, and her regular gym classes had toned her stomach muscles. The sunbed sessions had indeed given her an even tan, and she believed that her reflection showed a real sexy woman. ‘Fuck you, Mike Regan,’ she mumbled under her breath.
As she added another layer of mascara to her lashes, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Smiling to herself, she exaggerated flouncing her hips as she met Scottie at the top of the staircase. ‘I take it we’re having breakfast in bed,’ she laughed, allowing the robe to slip entirely to the floor.
Scottie grinned, admiringly. ‘Looks like it, babe.’
He followed her into the bedroom, watching her neat, tight arse. The thought of food had gone from his mind as he placed the tray on the bedside cabinet.
Jackie giggled like a kid and positioned herself in what she thought was a sexy position before Scottie ditched his jogging bottoms and climbed on top.
Just as things were getting interesting, Ricky called out, ‘Mummy, please can I have a drink?’ In a fit of annoyance, Jackie pushed Scottie off. Grabbing the tall glass of orange juice, she marched to the adjacent room, unlocked the door, thrust the juice in Ricky’s hand, and slammed the door shut, turning the key. She hurried back and dived on top of Scottie. ‘Where was I?’
Scottie grabbed her hips and lowered her down onto his manpiece. ‘There, me little cowgirl.’
Jackie pulled her hair to the side again and moved up and down, expressing her most seductive face, or so she thought. She ran her hands over his chest and through his long hair until he shot his load and they both relaxed. Jackie climbed off and lay on her back. ‘This is the life, eh, Scottie?’
Scottie was leaning across the bed to retrieve the cigarette. He wasn’t one for many words, unlike his two brothers who always had a lot to say. His mother would call him sly, whilst Scottie saw himself as the mysterious type, a real babe magnet.
He took a few drags on his fag, sat upright, and swigged the tall glass of orange. Jackie took the drink from him and had a swill herself. The bitter taste hit the back of her throat. ‘Jesus, vodka for breakfast? Now, I could get used to this.’
She shared his cigarette and the drink, and then she peered at the limp, greasy bacon sandwiches. Her stomach rumbled. She needed some food to soak up the alcohol from the night before, yet the bacon didn’t look at all crispy or inviting. She wasn’t the best of cooks herself; she had Sacha for that – well, until Sacha had left. Still, she could learn to cook. Not wanting to piss Scottie off for his efforts, she leaned across him and picked up one of the sandwiches. Carefully, so as not to drip the fat onto his chest, she pu
t it to her mouth. After the first mouthful she swallowed, the second bite became easier.
‘Cor, this tastes lovely, Scottie. I feel spoilt.’
‘Let’s spend the day celebrating.’ He grinned.
As her eyes followed him out of the room, Jackie wondered what he had in store. But to her dismay, he returned with a bottle of vodka under one arm, a carton of orange under the other, and a spare glass into which he had stuffed a bag of weed and fag papers. She’d hoped that he would at least have presented her with gifts, perhaps even a bunch of flowers. She thought back to Mike, when she’d moved into his house. He’d bought her presents – bottles of expensive perfume, a gold Rolex, and huge bunches of red roses. She smiled sweetly as Scottie poured her a glass.
‘Only the best.’ He grinned, holding up the Grey Goose.
She leaned against the headboard and watched as he rolled a joint. Compared to Mike, Scottie wasn’t so big. Then again, who was? But he did have possibilities. Whilst Mike was older and more serious, Scottie had a charming, cheeky smile, which was a definite turn-on, and he seemed more reckless. Little did she know that Scottie Harman was her husband’s archenemy.
* * *
Mike rubbed his face and looked around the room. Staffie was still asleep on one of the sofas and Lou was snoring in the armchair. Willie was busily making a coffee in the kitchen. It must have been Eric letting himself in that woke up Mike.
Standing there clean-shaven, and wearing a freshly ironed shirt, Eric said, ‘Any news, then?’
Mike shook his head to wake himself up. ‘No. And where the fuck ’ave you been?’
Looking sheepish, Eric shifted from foot to foot. ‘I went to check that Tracey’s all right.’
‘What? Couldn’t ya just ’ave fucking phoned her?’
Eric rolled his eyes. ‘Look, Mikey, I came to see if there’s anything I can do. I ain’t ’ere for a row.’
Now livid, Mike jumped up from the sofa and stood an inch from Eric’s nose. ‘See what you can do?’ His voice was climbing up in pitch. ‘Me boy’s missing, the Harmans ’ave started a war, and you wondered what you can do to help?’
Eric stepped back.
‘This, you bastard, is partly your fault, taking on Travis in the first place. You fucked off to give Tracey a good screwing, and now you swan in ’ere like you’re gonna do me a favour. What is it with you, eh? Call yaself a brother? Staffie, Lou, and Willie are more my blood than you are.’
Eric turned away, his face burning and his fingers icy. He knew, though, that Mike was right. He’d gone to see Tracey and had spent the night with her. Then he’d got himself cleaned up and returned to lend a hand. However, he wasn’t happy that Mike was throwing it all in his face.
‘I don’t know what you expect me to do.’ His voice was suddenly cocky, but he regretted the words the second they left his mouth.
Mike grabbed him by the throat and shook him. ‘I expect you to act like a man, not go running off to ya bird, ya no-good twat.’ He pushed Eric so hard that he fell backwards and hit the tall glass cabinet. In a sudden fit of rage, Eric launched himself to his feet and threw a punch that caught Mike clean on the chin. Although Staffie and Willie quickly tried to intervene, it was clearly too late. The damage had been done. This tension had been simmering for a while now and the stakes had risen considerably to the point that trust between the brothers had plummeted.
But both Staffie and Willie were astounded that Mike didn’t even move. They’d heard the crack and seen the force, but Mike stood there defiantly.
Eric then realized that if Mike hit him back, he would be out for the count. The intense standoff alarmed the men. Never before had any of them seen that look on Mike’s face. It was wild and almost unearthly; the whites of his eyes seemed to darken and his brows narrowed. In a flash, Staffie grabbed Eric and pulled him away, whilst Willie stood in front of Mike and Lou tried to pull Mike’s arms behind his back.
‘Easy, Mikey, easy,’ said Lou, trying to calm the monster inside Mike. Lou could feel the tension in his friend’s arms, as if his muscles had turned to steel. He knew he would have to use every ounce of his considerable strength to hold Mike back. It would easily take more than the three of them to contain him.
Eric managed to get away, out of the room, before Mike let rip and annihilated him. He waited outside in the front garden, hoping that Mike would cool off. Never before had he punched his brother, not even in jest. Whatever possessed him this morning, he knew he would regret it. He felt stupid for having brought Travis into the firm. And the fact that Mike had made him feel second best – not wittingly, but, nevertheless, he had – also made him jealous. Mike was treating him like shit in front of the others and that wasn’t fair. They should be equal partners in the business, so, therefore, he should have an equal say. Yet the men always looked to Mike to give the orders, as if he, Eric, was a nobody. Suffering for long enough, it was time to stand his ground and at least be listened to. Maybe that clump would have Mike thinking twice, he thought.
Little did he know that inside the house, Mike was in a trance, his anger at its peak. He was fearing for Ricky’s safety, and so, family or not, he was in the mood to smash the life out of anyone.
Staffie tried to talk Mike round, but that intense stare made it like communicating with a brick wall. Lou let Mike go, and Willie stepped aside to make the big man a stiff drink. No sooner had the men relaxed their shoulders than Mike was off, storming past Staffie and out through the front door. Eric didn’t even have time to get his thoughts together. Mike grabbed his shoulders, spun him around, and punched him with such brute force that Eric’s feet lifted off the ground.
For five minutes, as Eric lay prone on the grass, Mike stared down, holding his breath. Had he just killed Eric? Then he took in a deep breath as his brother began to groan. He waited for him to regain consciousness before he let rip. ‘You selfish cunt. My boy’s out there being fucking tortured, for all we know, and you waltz in my house acting like a hardman and show violence to me?’
Eric held his hand up. ‘No, Mikey. Leave off.’
Mike towered over him. ‘Leave off? Fucking leave off? Are you ’aving a laugh? You pathetic excuse for a man. Do one, Eric!’ He waved his hands dismissively. ‘I don’t need you. You’re a flaming liability.’
Eric was groping around on all fours like a drunken crab, before he got to his feet to flee. His head was still spinning. He had never been knocked out cold before. The pain was slowly making its way up his jawline and was now pounding like a pneumatic drill in his temples. No doubt, Mike had broken his jaw.
As Eric tried to open his car door, Mike called after him. ‘Don’t you ever come back. You ain’t my brother!’
Eric was so hurt and angered by his words that he recklessly said the unthinkable. ‘Yeah, and Jackie’s such a slut that Ricky probably ain’t even your son.’
Luckily, he managed to get inside his car before Mike reached him. However, as he drove away, Mike managed to smash two panels with his feet. Eric’s car looked as if it had been kicked by an elephant.
There was nothing Willie, Staffie, or Lou could have done, even if they’d wanted to. Eric had just rubbed salt in the wound; by anyone’s standards, he had crossed the line, big time.
Mike, white-faced and fuming, stormed back through the hallway and into the kitchen. He tried to pour himself a strong coffee, in one of the small fancy coffee cups. Agitated that he couldn’t get hold of the tiny handle, he launched it into the sink and pulled a mug from the cupboard. Staffie could see the pain etched on Mike’s face, so he took over and made him a fresh coffee.
‘’Ere ya go, Mikey. Why don’t you drink that? Have a shower and clear ya head. Then we can decide on our next move.’
Mike gulped back the coffee and nodded, too angry to speak. Staffie was right: he had to get his head straight.
Ten minutes later, Mike appeared in the living room, clean-shaven and dressed in a fresh red polo shirt and cargo shorts. It was his eyes that d
ominated his appearance. They were still smouldering with anger.
‘So, Willie, what did the landlord at the Cedars say about the Harmans?’
Willie was twitching; he needed some real sleep. ‘Well, the little gremlin had to tell the truth – me knife was ready to take his tongue out.’ He chuckled. ‘He was only too eager to help. He reckons that Vinnie has been in, asking about his father and Scottie. He told the landlord to call him if either one showed up.’
‘So it seems to me that the Harmans are panicking. But nothing’s been mentioned about Harry, so I’m guessing Vinnie knows where he is, but not that little shit of a brother, Scottie, nor their father,’ reasoned Mike.
Willie nodded, in confirmation.
‘And their houses are being watched, yeah?’
Willie nodded again. ‘Yep, me little brother’s plotted up outside Harry’s gaff. Young Felix is outside Vinnie’s and Bruno is watching Scottie’s place. There’s been no activity at all. They’ll call right away if any of them show their faces. Listen, Mikey. If they do have Ricky, I mean a big if, I think we would have heard by now. They wouldn’t hurt him. I reckon they’d just barter with him, for an end to it all. They’ve gone into hiding, so they’re obviously shitting it. The landlord reckons Vinnie was really agitated when he turned up. He said he was sweating buckets and stuttering.’
Mike paced the floor. ‘So, Vinnie didn’t even say a word about his mother?’
Willie shook his head. ‘Nope. He was just after finding Scottie and Frank.’
‘Right, I want every known associate of the Harmans armed with a message. The family can have their mother back in return for my boy.’
Willie smiled, showing his jagged teeth. ‘Okay, chief,’ he replied. He loved to throw his weight around, and being the most tempestuous of the bunch, Mike knew that he would do a good job. Sending a clear message, done with a touch of recklessness, was a wise move, and Willie was perfect for the job.