by KERRY BARNES
‘I wish I’d never applied for custody. I wish I’d never brought you back into my home to give you a better life. In fact, I wish you’d never been born, you ungrateful, nasty girl. Now, before I do something I really do regret, fuck off, go back to your bastard of a father, and leave me alone!’
Kendall stood frozen to the spot. Never in her life had she seen her mother act that way. The overly polite and sickly-sweet manner had been replaced by a raging lunatic, but Kendall wasn’t going to stand there and take that. ‘My dad, the bastard, yeah? Weren’t you the one who couldn’t keep your knickers on? Weren’t you the one who fucked off with Alastair and left Dad and me on our own? I think the truth is, Mother, you’re the bastard – or the puppet.’
She knew the minute the words left her mouth she was going to get it from her mother, so she turned to rush out of the door before something was thrown her way. However, she wasn’t fast enough and was ripped back by her T-shirt and pushed against the wall. With a tight grip around her throat, Kendall’s eyes nearly popped out of her head and her heart felt like it was beating outside her chest. Her mother was a millimetre away from her face and foaming at the mouth. This wasn’t her mother, surely? This was a demon who had taken over her mother’s body. Then, to her horror, her mother pulled her fist back ready to launch a punch. Kendall stared into her mother’s eyes, searching for any sign of the rage leaving. To her relief, her mother dropped her arm and pushed her away.
With legs like jelly and her body trembling, Kendall scurried away. As soon as she was out of reach, she shouted back, ‘Don’t worry, I’m moving out next weekend. My father has a flat for me, so you can go and fuck yourself.’
Heading to her bedroom, only too pleased to have had the last word, Kendall didn’t hear her mother sobbing. As soon as Kendall reached the end of the hallway, the front door opened and in walked Alastair, looking very chuffed. Dressed in a grey suit and with a golden tan, Kendall had to admit he wasn’t bad looking. She could see why her mother was attracted to him. A well-built man, with ripped muscles and piercing eyes, he wouldn’t seem out of place at a prefight weigh-in. However, the way he looked at her still made her want to cringe.
‘Hello, Kendall, how’s Brooke?’ he said, not noticing the sheer spite on her face. He took off his jacket, placed it on a hanger, and rolled up his sleeves. Kendall didn’t reply but went up the stairs, leaving him to see for himself the carnage in the kitchen. Once she reached the landing, she strained her ears to listen, wondering if her mother would revert to the sweet housewife fussing over her husband like it was in the 1950s.
‘What’s the bloody matter now, Rebecca?’ Alastair’s voice was less than compassionate, which sent Rebecca into a further downward spiral.
‘Where have you been?’ she snapped.
‘Where the hell do you think? I’ve been to work, Rebecca. Now, will you pull yourself together and stop badgering me. I’d have thought you had more pressing issues to be concentrating on, like the upcoming election. Oh yes, and not forgetting, you have our daughter up there suffering.’
Kendall crept back down the staircase and waited midway, listening.
‘Brooke won’t even look at me, and damn the bloody election. In fact, Alastair, I might resign. I’ve had enough.’
‘What!’ he bellowed, his tone now deep and masterful. ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, woman. We’ve come this far, and now you want to bail out? Well, all I can say is, Rebecca, you aren’t the woman I thought you were. I thought I’d married someone with guts, drive, and determination, not some pathetic crybaby who wants to give up at the first hurdle!’
There was silence and Kendall could only picture her mother’s crumpled expression. She got that very wrong.
‘We, Alastair? We? Who is the we? Because as I recall, it’s me who happens to be the member of parliament. I hold that seat, not you, and this isn’t the first hurdle. I’ve been working my bloody arse off to get to where I am.’
Alastair’s voice instantly mellowed. ‘Sorry, love. Look, it was just a turn of phrase. I am proud of you, and what you’ve achieved. You’re such an amazing MP. It’s tough, I grant you, but it’ll get easier. The voters love you and no doubt they’ll vote you in again and then you can relax. How about after the election we take a short holiday, just me and you, eh?’
Her step-father, the ace manipulator, Kendall thought. She pictured the scene and recognized her father’s skill at managing the situation to his own personal advantage. She could just imagine her mother falling into Alastair’s arms and wiping her eyes. She is so pathetic, she thought. Why, Mother, can’t you see through him?
‘Forget it, Alastair. I am fed up with everything. Our marriage is a mess because either you’re working or I am. We never spend time together, and as for my job, I hate it. I am sick of it. The crime rate in my constituency is climbing daily, and I’m damn sure my voters will view it as me being incompetent. Why should I have to go through all this stress? I’ve enough money saved not to work ever again.’
‘I know, my darling, it’s hard. I’ll tell you what. I’ll take a week off and help you as much as I can. I don’t like to see you like this. What do you say?’
Kendall cringed, wishing her mother would flatly refuse his offer. Stand your ground, Mother, she willed.
‘Well, you’ve no need to do that, Alastair.’
Kendall sensed her mother was taking back control.
‘I want to, Rebecca.’
‘No, I mean, I have help. I have Father and Conrad and they have a plan to—’
Alastair interrupted before his wife had a chance to finish. ‘You what! You never said. How? I mean, what do they propose to do?’
The sudden panic in Alastair’s voice made Kendall stay put. Surely, her mother would have recognized that worried tone?
‘Conrad has a plan to clean up the streets and get to the bottom of this gang problem.’
‘What? How? I thought he didn’t have the budget for that?’ Alastair asked, now quite agitated.
‘He doesn’t have the budget, so I guess he has another plan. Anyway, I’m bushed. I’m going to have a shower.’
Finally, Kendall was about to creep back up the stairs before her mother caught her earwigging when she realized her parents hadn’t finished talking.
‘Wait a minute. What’s going on, Rebecca? Your brother is the chief of police. If he doesn’t have the budget, then what does he propose to do? We need to know because . . . well, what if he makes a mess of things? Christ, Rebecca, if he does, then you’ll be the one with egg on your face, not him. You need to find out what his intentions are, and then we can decide whether or not to let him get involved.’
‘I’m pretty sure he has a good plan because he’s been discussing it with our father!’
Kendall sensed her mother’s tone was now tainted with annoyance. She waited to see who was next to serve, thoroughly enjoying this game of tennis.
‘Your father? Jesus, it gets worse. What the hell does your father know about politics? Seriously, Rebecca, you should be discussing this with me, your bloody husband, not running to your daddy like a child!’
‘Alastair, I am not discussing it anymore. I’m going to take a shower and then I’m off to bed. I’ve had quite enough rows for one day.’
Kendall quickly snuck away to her room. This is getting interesting, she thought. Maybe she should have studied politics or puppet mastery.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mike looked behind him to find four eager faces. ‘Before we get outside, just remember, not a word to anyone, even family. We got released early because of overcrowding and cutbacks.’
Staffie frowned. ‘D’ya think they’ll buy it?’
Mike nodded. ‘Come on, Staff, they’ll be only too pleased we’re out to bother about questioning it. Not a word though, ’cos who would understand it, and we don’t want to lose respect, now do we?’
The others nodded in agreement. It was a good point and they certainly didn’t want to lose fa
ce.
The last secure door slid open. He winked as if to say, ‘This is it, lads.’ There, waiting to greet them, stood Arthur, Mike’s father, and Teddy Stafford, Staffie’s father. Embraces were exchanged, and, excitedly, they hurried to the cars. Mike stopped for a moment and looked up at the clear blue sky and sighed. He was free: for almost twelve years he’d been locked up, and now he could breathe and learn to live again. Ricky was by Arthur’s side, held close with Arthur’s arm around his shoulders. Mike looked on, fondly. He knew that Ricky would be fussed over for months or even years to come.
Ted opened the door for Staffie, Willie, and Lou to climb in, while Mike and Ricky travelled home with Arthur.
For Ricky, it was a dream come true. He’d been sentenced to a year in the nick, believing he would come out only to face his mother and their tiny caravan – a way of life that he detested. To be sitting next to his grandfather in the front seat of a new car and driving off to his real family’s home, after serving only a few weeks, felt overwhelming and left him with a permanent grin.
As Arthur pulled away, Mike looked back at the dark, miserable building and tears began to well up. All those years of sitting in solitary confinement, believing his son and Zara were dead, tormented with all the what-ifs, the whys, and the wherefores, and now to be free and to have his loved ones back once more, he wondered if he should actually start going to church because God had undoubtedly answered his prayers.
Mike knew the outside world would have changed in twelve years and if he had served out his full sentence, he suspected it would have been a slow process to acclimatize to the life of civvy street. Having missed out on so many changes, the first one he noticed was the billboards advertising new technology and the number of pedestrians with their faces glued to a phone or wearing, as he saw it, oversized headphones. And while his mind was on those, looking at the interior of his father’s car, it seemed as though he’d entered the space age. The technology was incredible, and he gazed in wonderment at the huge dashboard with sat nav, hi-fi, and telephone, all integrated and shown on just one screen. He clocked the way people dressed – these new skinny jeans – on men – and it made him shake his head. What the fuck did they look like? He saw some young women walking down a street and noticed that their hairstyles were different too, now every shade of the rainbow.
Ricky took less interest in his surroundings. He’d only been inside a short while, so to him the outside was nothing new. His eyes were on his grandad and being driven in his latest Jaguar, with the smell of expensive aftershave pervading the interior. And having his family around him was all he cared about.
Once they arrived at the house, Ricky’s eyes were wide with excitement. The memories of his grandparents’ home came flooding back, along with that distant recollection of the day his mother had bundled him into the car and taken off.
They pulled on to the long gravel drive. As they approached the six-bedroom property, huge yellow ribbons were tied to the concrete pillars. This and his father’s home were where his fondest memories had been made. And he wouldn’t let the past with his mother override them. He now had the future to look forward to. He beamed when he spotted Gloria at the door, with Zara and Eric behind her. His grandmother was waving and hopping up and down like someone demented. It was just like the day she faced him in prison for the first time in twelve years, when she went bananas and screamed with excitement.
Mike left his plastic bag inside the car, a stark reminder of prison. As he stepped out and took a deep breath, Zara hurried over and threw herself at him. He lifted her up and spun her around, noticing how light she was. As he heard the crunching sound of the gravel from the other car drawing up, he smiled. They were all together: the whole family, his mates, their parents, and Zara.
‘Come on, let’s get inside!’ ushered Gloria, who was in her element. She’d planned a homecoming party with food to feed an army and drink to fill a pub. Everyone trickled out of the French doors into the garden where a hired barbecue was on the go. The outside summerhouse was decorated like a Hawaiian cocktail bar with waiters shaking piña coladas.
As expected, Ricky was being hugged, kissed, and complimented. Zara was clinging to Mike as if her life depended on it, and then the fun and banter began.
As the drinks flowed and the laughter was at its peak, Zara’s mobile phone rang. Staring down at the flashing number, she frowned; there beside Davey Lanigan’s name were four missed calls. She hurried away from the party and walked into the lounge where it was quiet, only to hear the landline ringing. Picking up the receiver, she listened to a strong Irish accent. ‘Zara, is that you?’
Detecting the panic in the tone, she replied, ‘Yes.’
‘It’s me, Shamus. Davey’s been trying to call you. I’m sorry, I know it’s Mr Regan’s homecoming, but we’ve a serious situation going on. Neil’s at the hospital. He’s been knifed in the chest . . . ’ His words faltered for a moment, but not quickly enough to give Zara a chance to comprehend the situation. The next bit of news came as a bombshell. ‘He may not pull through.’
Zara had to sit down – the information had knocked her sideways. She had a lot of feelings for Neil; he had worked alongside her for five years before she was brutally attacked and held in her father’s basement. Taking a deep breath to stop the crack in her voice, she asked, ‘Who attacked him?’ Her mind was back to the darkest place – a war with the Harmans and the Segals.
‘We don’t know who they are. They were just two black guys, Yardies, we think. They’ve robbed him and beaten him and then the feckers plunged him. Jesus, he’s in a bad way, Zara.’
Just as she was about to ask more questions, her mobile phone rang again. It was Davey.
‘Er . . . Shamus, it’s your uncle on the other phone. I’ll call you back.’
With that, the phone went dead, and she quickly took the call from Davey. ‘Oh my God, Davey, I’m so sorry. Where is Neil? What shall I do?’ Her words came out so fast, she had to stop for air.
‘Zara, we may need Mike’s help here. I want those bastards shot. This minute, my hands are tied. All my men are back in Ireland. We had some issues back there, so I pulled them out of London. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, but, now . . . Oh, feck me . . . Oh, I have to go. The doctors are calling me.’
Zara gasped as she replaced the receiver, her mind now on Neil, fervently wishing him to live. He was like a little brother to her. Not a brother like Ismail, a rat of the first order, but the brother she wished she had.
As she was about to call Shamus back, Eric appeared, holding her drink. ‘Hey, are you okay, Zara? It’s a bit overwhelming, eh? All the family and . . . ’
She waved her hand distractedly. ‘No, it’s not that, er . . . could you get Mike for me please, Eric?’
He turned his head to the side. ‘Zara? What’s happened?’
Near to tears, she replied, ‘Sorry, Eric, I haven’t got time. Could you fetch Mike for me?’
Ignoring her request, he walked over to her and crouched down. ‘Talk to me, Zara. What’s going on? I can sort it out. Mike’s a bit pissed. Let’s not burden him for the moment.’
Almost the spitting image of Mike, Eric didn’t have that same open smile.
‘Neil has been knifed.’
‘Fuck, no! Where did it happen?’
Zara frowned. ‘I, er . . . I don’t know where, but Shamus thinks . . . oh, hang on. I need to call Shamus back.’
As she pressed the Return Call key on the landline, she slowly turned to see Eric still there and mouthed the words ‘Get Mike’.
‘Shamus, where was Neil when he got knifed?’
‘Zara, from what I can gather, Neil was attacked just outside one of the restaurants. We need to meet up. I feel like a sitting duck. Another one of our places was turned over last night. It’s the second one in a week.’
‘Why didn’t someone tell me?’ she asked, firmly.
‘Uncle Davey wanted to talk to you about it, but Mike was coming hom
e, and you were poorly, so . . . Anyway, the fact is, some fecking gang smashed the fecking lights out of the owner of the Pomodorra, took all the gear and the money, and threatened to kill his grandson. The Belle restaurant was also done over, and it was the same gang, judging by the description.’
‘Okay, Shamus. Tomorrow, can we meet first thing?’
There was a pause. ‘Er . . . yeah, sure . . . if Neil is okay. I mean, if he pulls through.’
‘Yes, look, sorry, of course. Let’s cross one bridge at a time, eh?’
As she replaced the receiver, she gave Eric a puzzled look. ‘Why didn’t you get Mike?’
Eric dropped his shoulders and sighed. ‘Listen, Mike’s just got out of the nick. He’s catching up with old mates. I thought it best to keep him in good form. Any problems, Zara, let me help. Mikey’s had enough to worry about to last him a lifetime.’
Zara looked down at her wrist and felt Eric had a point. Mike should be allowed time to enjoy life and not jump right back into another war, one that really wasn’t his business. She nodded and smiled. ‘I guess you’re right. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to pull him away from his family.’
Eric chuckled. ‘Yeah, not when Jennifer’s strutting her stuff in that short skirt of hers.’ Without a second thought as to what he’d just said, his voice turned serious. ‘So, what did Shamus say? I mean, do they know who stabbed him?’
The thought of Mike flirting with another woman hovered at the back of her mind. She looked at her wrist again and suddenly felt lost. What was she thinking? Maybe Mike’s proposal of marriage came because he was in a dark place and seeing her again after all those years of believing she was dead, it may have pushed him to act irrationally? She’d seen Teddy’s niece arrive and was taken aback when she swanned in, with the shortest of skirts and a low-cut top. She was probably in her late thirties but had the figure of a younger woman. Zara couldn’t compete with someone who looked like that. She suddenly came out of her daze. ‘Sorry, Eric, I was just in shock. Shamus reckons it’s the Yardies who have done over two of my businesses. Anyway, you’re right. I won’t worry Mike with it.’
