by KERRY BARNES
Even Jackie’s tea towels had Chanel embroidered on them. Her glass table and leather dining chairs were stunning. And her sofas were chunky, plush, and finished in cream leather. Cora couldn’t understand why Jackie wasn’t polishing every day. She would have been if she’d had a van like hers. Although Cora was jealous, she never said so, because Jackie’s wealth meant status and the gypsies were treating her as if she had clout.
‘Shall I put the kettle on, Jax?’
Jackie nodded. ‘If ya must, girl.’
Too thick-skinned to get the hint that she was a pest, Cora flicked the switch on the stainless-steel kettle and started rabbiting away while Jackie stared out of the window sipping her vodka.
‘Where’s my boy?’
With a cup in her hand, Cora slid herself onto the seat opposite Jackie. ‘He’s out with Tat and me two eldest lads.’
A questioning look on Jackie’s face made Cora chew the inside of her lip.
‘You tell your two eldest that whatever they earn from my boy is to be split four ways. Me, Ricky, and them.’
Cora flicked her long fringe out of her eyes and laughed. ‘Jax, they’re just out and about, a bit o’ scrap metal. Ya know, nuffin big—’
Jackie slammed her hand down on the table. ‘Don’t you fucking mug me off, Cora. Ya think me boy don’t speak? Well, he speaks to me. I know they have him climbing through windows.’
She didn’t actually know that at all. Nevertheless, she knew how the gypsies worked on the site. Her boy was too small and weak to be scrap metalling. He was ideal for climbing into people’s houses and opening the front door to let the bigger lads in, though.
Tatum had a dog called Sheriff that he’d trained as a lookout when he went robbing. However, only a few weeks ago the dog had died, and so Jackie knew full well Tatum would be engaging another lookout. Ergo, he had his eye on her boy. Ricky didn’t speak to her and hadn’t done since the day she’d arrived at the site, but she warned him that if he ever opened his mouth to anyone, then his dear old daddy would be locked away and he would never see him again. For some reason that fear had been embedded in Ricky’s brain. Apart from a nod or a shake of his head, not another word left his mouth. In many ways, it did her a huge favour because however much bullshit she spouted, Ricky would never confirm or deny it.
Cora gave a nervous laugh. ‘The boys are only out having a bit o’ fun. They’re teaching your boy a trade. Scrap metal earns a decent enough wage. It’s cushty. My boys—’
‘Teaching me boy a trade they might be, but it ain’t in scrap metal. It’s burgling.’
Cora’s eyes scanned Jackie’s, looking for a sign she was going to laugh it off, but there was an unmistakable look of spite.
‘Burgling? No way.’
Jackie suddenly grabbed Cora’s hair and pulled her close. ‘Liar! You go back to your ol’ man and tell him from me, if he’s making money outta my boy, then I want my fucking share.’ She let go of Cora’s hair and pushed her away.
With a look of shock and anger, Cora jumped up. ‘Touch me again, Jax, and I swear on me muvver’s eyesight, you’ll be sorry. My Tatum will roast yer alive.’
Jackie let out a sarcastic chuckle. ‘And what makes you think he ain’t already?’ She glared at Cora, watching her ready to explode with anger.
Her crimson face highlighted her bright-green eyes, and the veins in her neck were ready to pop out. Now, incandescent with rage, she shouted, ‘You skanky, dirty fecking whore. My Tatum wouldn’t touch you with a cattle prod. You’re old and washed-up, Jackie, an ’as-been, and a fecking—’
She didn’t finish the sentence. Jackie leaped from her chair and smashed the glass tumbler into the side of Cora’s face, knocking her into the wall. Luckily for Cora, the glass didn’t break, or she wouldn’t have escaped with just a bruised cheek. But it was enough for her to scarper. When fuelled by the booze, Jackie was a complete nutcase. She had a name for herself, and yet Cora thought she would never turn on her. Little did she know that Jackie would turn on anyone: she never gave a shit, as long as she got what she wanted.
By the evening, Jackie had slept off the drink and was up, showered, and dressed in a pink satin Chanel bathrobe. It was one of her best sellers. She’d made a grand selling boxes of the items to the hairdressers and beauty salons – in fact, she couldn’t unload them fast enough. Naturally, she kept one for herself. Tatum never let his wife have any of the knocked-off gear he got, so Cora was left with an old pink bathrobe that had probably belonged to her mother and had definitely seen better days.
A loud rap at the door made her jump; she knew exactly who it was. She’d already watched the truck arrive and seen Tatum and his sons climb down from the cab. They were laughing and punching each other on the arm. Tatum ruffled Tyrone’s head; it had clearly been a successful day. Then she saw him pull Ricky from the back of the truck and drop him to his feet. There was no hair ruffling or a pat on the back. Tatum simply headed towards his caravan with his sons in tow, while Ricky wandered off to the edge of the woods where he sat on a log. This he did every evening, like some strange ritual.
Jackie intuitively knew that within ten minutes Tatum would be over with something to say. No doubt Cora would be milking her bruised cheek for all its worth. Jackie licked her lips at the thought of what would happen next. That was the thing. She thrived on attention, and having been bored out of her mind all day, she needed a pick-me-up. She didn’t have to wait long. Opening the door with a winning smile she said, ‘Whinging about her fucking face, was she?’
Tatum, a slim but toned man, who grinned like Brad Pitt and winked like George Clooney, was the best-looking man on the site, and he knew it. It wasn’t hard. Most of the men were butt-ugly. A few years younger than Jackie, he was still quite mature. The men his age gave him respect because he could turn a shilling into a pound and could handle himself. Jackie was sexually attracted to him, but that was all. She wasn’t a love-sick teenager waiting to share a few stolen moments – she could take him or leave him. Her secret trysts with Tatum were purely to kill the boredom and to satisfy her insatiable sexual appetite.
He stormed through the caravan, slamming the door shut behind him. ‘Don’t fecking push me, girl. I don’t give a flying feck that yer hit me missus. But telling her I gave you a roasting is wicked.’
Jackie was on cloud nine. The stupid man was putty in her hands. Raising her neatly plucked eyebrows, she grinned. ‘But ya did, though, didn’t ya, Tat? If I remember rightly, it was a real good horny wet shag. And, Tat, ya loved every fucking moan and groan. Your large pulsating cock between my legs was like being on a spit roast, Tat, eh?’ Her eyes and her slow words had him fired up. Her pert nipples poking through her satin gown were begging to be sucked.
‘You whore, Jackie.’
Gotcha, she thought wickedly. ‘I don’t see you paying me.’ She smirked, as she slowly pulled the satin belt from her waist, allowing him to see what she had on offer. He was stunned into silence as she slowly parted her legs and ran her hands down past her navel and into her fanny. Slowly withdrawing her finger, she sucked it and smiled up at him seductively.
What had been a mild erection thirty seconds ago was now full-on. Intending to give Jackie the warning of the century, his animal instinct and urge now took over. Unbuckling his belt, he forced her onto the table where he pulled her legs apart and gripped her breasts hard. He couldn’t wait: he needed to be inside her before he shot his load.
Lifting her legs in the air, she offered it to him on a plate. He was harder and faster than usual, his emotions mixing anger with pleasure, and as much as she moaned in ecstasy, he banged her harder. ‘Take that, you fucking whore, Jackie, and that.’ He banged her so hard it actually hurt. So, he thinks he’s going to get one over on me, does he, the thick fucker, she thought. She debated whether to stop him. But the desire for sex was as strong as his. ‘Harder, baby, harder.’
Digging his fingers into her legs, he suddenly spun her over. The speed and stre
ngth of the man almost winded her. Struggling to break loose was futile. Now having her where he wanted her, he grabbed her hair and entered again, but, this time, he didn’t hold back and rode her like a wild horse. He pulled her head so far back she could hardly breathe, and then, before he came, he pulled away and shoved his cock into her anus. She felt beaten, humiliated, and assaulted.
Slowly letting go of her hair, he pulled away and did up his trousers. Jackie was slumped over the table, gasping for breath. After slapping a fifty-pound note on the side, he left without another word. He’d made his point. Jackie was getting too big for her boots, calling the shots on the site, ruling the women, and now thinking she could lord it over him. He wasn’t having any of it. The fact was, he knew she had sussed him out regarding her son: Ricky was a good little earner. A skinny runt, he would do exactly as he was told and not answer back, unlike his own boys who had runaway gobs on them. But he wasn’t about to share what he stole with the likes of Jackie – who had no man to call upon as backup.
* * *
He returned to his own van where Cora was still holding a cold tea towel to her face. ‘What she say, Tat?’
Tatum grinned. ‘Not a lot. I told her to keep her lying tongue to herself. I ain’t ’aving some two-bit slag upset my wife.’ He kissed her on the forehead and lifted the lid to see what meal his wife had made for him.
‘Your favourite, Tat. Chicken stew. Only the best bits o’ kanni an’ all.’
‘Good girl.’ He smiled.
‘Tat, what’s that wrapped around ya wrist?’ She could see a coil of black hair, and it wasn’t her own.
Tatum looked down and saw the remnants of hair extensions he had ripped from Jackie’s head. ‘I ain’t ’aving a fucking hedgemumper and shit-stirrer on this site, so I gave her a little reminder of what I’d do if she tried it again.’ He quickly uncoiled the hair and let it drop into the bin.
Cora giggled, assuming he’d given Jackie a slap.
* * *
Slipping her arms into her silk gown and clicking her head from side to side, Jackie walked over to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a new bottle of Grey Goose, poured a generous helping into a glass and drank it neat. She shuddered and had another gulp, hoping it would relieve her discomfort. As the alcohol took a grip and she felt her muscles relax, she gazed out of the window and across the field to the edge of the wood. Ricky was sitting on the log, gazing up at the sky.
She did wonder if he was the full ticket.
Chapter 12
Wormwood Scrubs Prison stood like a medieval tower. Arthur shuddered, as he thought of his son spending twelve years inside. He gripped his wife’s hand as they waited in the queue. The shock of the sentence had not only aged him, but it had taken two stone off his wife. Ricky was still missing and now their son was locked away. The stress had well and truly taken its toll.
As soon as they were seated in the visiting room, Gloria pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. Tears lay heavily in her eyes. She struggled to smile when she saw him walk through the door; her tall, heavily built son was a shadow of his former self. Gaunt and pale, there was absolutely no life in his eyes. If she could have swapped places, she would have done so in a heartbeat.
He bent over and kissed her on the cheek and nodded to his father. ‘It’s good to see you, but I don’t want you coming up here. I’m fine. To be honest, I’ll find it easier if you ain’t traipsing up here to this shit-hole.’
Gloria sniffed again and clutched her son’s hand. ‘Now, you listen to me, Mikey Regan. If I want to walk all the bleedin’ way ’ere to see my boy, then I will. Now, no more talk of stopping our visits.’
He shook his head. ‘Mum, I’ve got a life sentence. Twelve poxy years – okay, so I’ve already served a year on remand. Thing is, I can easily serve my time, but it kills me to think of you coming here. You’re me mum. You don’t belong in here among the fucking scum of the earth.’
He shot a look at two junkies; one of them was passing a packet of heroin to the skinny, scabby prisoner seated opposite. He watched as the man tried to surreptitiously shove it up his backside.
‘It ain’t right, Mum. You carry on writing ’cos I look forward to your letters, but, please, stay at home.’
Arthur looked over at the tuckshop. ‘’Ere, Glor, go and fetch us some teas, will ya, babe?’
Gloria wiped her sodden cheeks and nodded. She guessed her husband wanted a private word. Mike’s eyes followed his mother as she ambled off to the canteen area, dressed smartly in an emerald green suit and a floral scarf.
‘Don’t bring her again, Dad. This ain’t no place for her.’
Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘I can’t stop her, Son. She’s ya mother.’
‘Any news, Dad, on Ricky?’
Arthur shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Son. We’ve phoned every school in the Home Counties and we’ve heard nothing. Ya mother’s called every damn beauty shop and hairdressers, trying to find Jackie – nothing. As for the Harmans, they may be under police protection. No one knows where they are. We keep hitting brick walls. I won’t give up, Son, I promise.’
‘And what about Eric?’
There was a pause. Mike noticed his father’s expression as he shuffled uncomfortably.
‘Dad?’
‘He’s jacked it all in, Son. He reckons there are too many firms out there wanting to take over. He’s gone to Spain to make a new life.’
‘You what? Fucking hell, what’s going on? I’ve got fucking orders to fill. What happened to me shipments? Did he sort them for me?’
Arthur’s eyes appeared to sink back into his head. ‘No, Son. Me and the boys have. I secured a set-up down the coast. It’s pretty safe. The place is in total darkness during the evening. The council won’t pay for the lights. It was a former ice-cream parlour, but it’s secure enough as a lock-up. Young Staffie and Willie Ritz are overseeing that lot. I got a buyer from up north, and Lou’s doing the delivery. I’ve had to buy a new truck to keep the Filth off his back.’
Mike could see the young man in the older body, just by the way his eyes came alive when he spoke about work.
‘Lou’s taking a chance though, Dad. Fuck me, if he got caught, he’d serve a longer stretch than me.’
‘I know, but they’re determined to keep the business going. They want it still up and running by the time you get out. And I need you to keep a lid on your temper. I’ve heard you’re spending weeks down the block. It’ll only damage ya chances of parole.’
Mike felt bad. His father was right; it only took the slightest little upset, and he was flying into uncontrollable rages.
‘Eric hasn’t been to see me. It’s been a year now.’
‘He says he can’t bear to see you in prison. He just can’t do it.’
Mike felt his head getting hot, as he tried to hold down his fury. He took a few deep breaths. ‘Please tell me you don’t believe that?’
Not knowing where to look, Arthur just smiled and then sighed. ‘I dunno, Son. He seems so spooked these days. I think it’s not having his big brother around. He ain’t like you, Mikey. Eric was always in your shadow, trying to imitate you. He wanted so much to be like you, but he never could be, and the truth is, he never will be.’
Mike’s bubbling temper curbed. ‘Is he still with that Tracey?’
Arthur smiled. ‘No, she scarpered, apparently, after you flung her onto your drive. No one’s seen her since. Good job as well. Ya mother couldn’t stand her, and you know what mothers are like. No woman is good enough for their son. Ya know what’s strange, though? Ya mother heard that she’d taken a right beating, and I’m not sure if the rumour was true because women love to gossip in the hairdressers, but she was seen with Frank’s daughter and both were beaten half to death.’
‘What? Who by? We never even knew where the Harmans were hiding out.’
‘I don’t think it had anything to do with us. Apparently, it was a woman on her own who beat them with a metal cosh. Whoever she was, she h
ad some power behind her. She smashed the life out of them. Yet, it’s all hearsay and probably not even true. Besides, what kinda woman walks around with a metal cosh?’ sniggered Arthur.
‘A woman with an axe to grind, that’s who,’ replied Mike, his thoughts drifting off to Zara.
Gloria toddled back with a tray of goodies. ‘Bleedin’ ’ell, they were slow. Anyway, there ya go, babe. There are a few chocolate bars ta keep ya strength up.’
She eased herself onto the cold plastic chair and passed Mike a cup of tea. ‘Did ya tell Mikey about the letter from poor ol’ Doris?’
Arthur shook his head. ‘Leave it, Glor …’
‘She was a sweet woman, ya know. I always felt sorry for her. That ol’ man of hers was a right nasty bloke.’
‘I guessed that, Mum, from the photo album.’
‘Yeah, well, he tried to grab me once. A right creep, he was, but, luckily, Doris called out to him, and I managed to escape. She told ya farver in the letter about all the things her ol’ man did.’
Arthur nudged her. ‘It’s in the past, Glor. Leave it there.’
Now irritated, Gloria decided to continue, regardless. ‘He had ya farver beaten up. It took four blokes to bring him down. The coward couldn’t do it himself. Apparently, she saved up a lump of money from her little sewing job, but that bastard found it and used it to pay the men to do over ya dad. He then—’
‘Glor, stop it. It doesn’t matter now. The fella’s dead.’ His voice was now raised to a pitch that made Gloria sit back and be quiet.
‘Okay. Anyway, Frank Harman groomed his boys into taking over your business. Doris heard everything. I did feel sorry for her, bringing up those ’orrible brats of hers.’ She suddenly laughed. ‘Do you ever remember that time? You must have been six years old, and I took you and Eric to the park? Little angels you two were, and there you were playing on a swing, minding ya own business, when a kid came over, a couple of years older than you, and dragged you off.’