Seeing the congealed blood, cuts and swelling that covered her husband’s face, Kelly put her hand over her mouth. Then, remembering the kids were in the room, she quickly shooed them out.
‘Go upstairs, kids. Billy, put the telly on in my room. See if you can find something to watch for a few minutes with your sister.’ Kelly ushered her terrified looking kids out of the room. Closing the lounge door, she turned to Terry.
‘Oh my God, what’s happened? Was it the O’Sheas?’ Kelly asked, confused.
Shaking his head, Terry raised his hand up in protest, clearly in pain as he did so. ‘No, it weren’t them, Kel. I got fucking mugged. I was walking home from work last night, and three blokes jumped me, three big Nigerians. Held me hostage in some bloody squat,’ Terry said as he slumped down into the chair. ‘I tried to fight them off but they beat seven shades of shit out of me. Tied me to a bed, and took all my wages . . . and my bloody phone.’
‘Oh my God, Terry. I’ve been calling you all night. I thought you had gone on a bender. They sent me a photo of you stark bollock naked. I thought you were . . . Well it doesn’t matter what I thought.’ Kelly felt guilty now. She had left numerous messages on Terry’s voicemail telling him exactly what she thought of him and the whole time he’d been kidnapped and held hostage by a bunch of violent thugs. ‘I was so worried about you, babe.’
Terry pulled the blanket tightly around him, groaning as he did.
‘Did they take it all?’ Kelly asked.
Terry stared at his wife incredulously. Here he was battered and bruised and still her only thought was about the poxy money.
‘Well, I’m only thinking about the O’Sheas . . . What are we going to tell them, Terry? We said we’d have their money for them.’
‘They took every penny, Kelly, and right at this moment in time I have no fucking idea what we’re going to say to them. I’m in agony; they’re the least of my worries.’ Terry moaned in pain. The last thing he wanted to think about was the O’Sheas. They would be after his blood when they turned up here later, and Terry knew that there was nothing he could do now to stop them. The only way out of it as far as he could see was to do a runner. Get Kelly and the kids over to his mum’s and hopefully buy himself some more time until he could figure out what the hell he was going to do. The fact that Kelly and his mother could barely be in the same room together without nearly killing each other was beside the point. Kelly would have to lump it. They were desperate after all.
‘Cor, fucking hell, I think I’m dying.’ Terry exaggeratedly flung his head back on the sofa, deciding to enjoy Kelly’s calm disposition for a few more minutes before he brought up the subject of his plan for them all to descend upon his mother.
‘Can I get you anything?’ Kelly was racked with guilt for thinking he had been with some tart last night.
‘I’d murder a sausage and egg sandwich, Kelly?’ Terry asked sheepishly, wondering how much he would be able to milk his predicament.
‘A sausage and egg sarnie?’ Kelly asked. ‘I meant a bloody ambulance, or some painkillers at least.’
Terry shook his head. ‘No, I’ll be fine. It’s only a few bruises. A sandwich is all I want, my sweet. I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunch time. I’m starving.’
‘Right, well you just put your feet up and I’ll go and whip you something up. I’ll make you a tea with a few extra sugars too. You probably need it for the shock. Then we need to work out what the fuck we’re going to do, Tel. That fucking Jimmy meant what he said about what he’d do if we didn’t pay up this time. So we’re going to have to figure something out.’
As Kelly busied herself in the kitchen, Terry leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. He was knackered. It had been a long night and an even longer morning.
Finally, after bashing the bed post against the wall for what seemed like forever, another dozy tart from the bedroom next door had come to his aid and released him. But not until she had pissed herself laughing at the sight of him, figuring rightly that her friend Serena had done a proper number on him.
The Romanian bitch had taken his belongings and, left without his clothes, Terry had had no choice but to wrap himself in the bed sheet he’d been lying on. He’d been shitting himself about coming home. Kelly had warned him last time that the very next time he cheated on her, she was going to have the locks changed, and Terry knew that she meant it. Terry had to really put his thinking cap on if he wanted to get out of this mess, and the little brainwave he’d had en route about throwing himself down a concrete stairwell by the river and claiming to have been mugged seemed to be working a treat.
The fall had been harder than he had anticipated, and he hadn’t meant to do quite as much damage as he had, but every bump and scrape that covered his battered body had been worth it.
Kelly looked riddled with guilt at thinking the worst of him and Terry was glad that he had got away with last night’s antics.
He’d been fuming that the conniving slag had taken his money, and that he was once again back at square one, but at least he didn’t have Kelly in his ear giving him grief too, on top of everything else. That really would have been the icing on the cake.
Kelly was right about one thing, though.
The O’Sheas would turn up here later expecting their money, and Terry had a feeling that, unlike his unsuspecting wife, they wouldn’t be so easily fobbed off.
Chapter Six
Evie Woods frantically tried to hide her modesty as the group of girls dragged her naked from her bedroom into the communal hallway. Hitting the floor roughly as the girls flung her down onto the coarse grey carpet, Evie tried to scamper away. But the girls pulled her back, laughing. They were enjoying the fact that Evie Woods was mortified.
‘Please, leave me alone. Get off me,’ Evie shrieked as tears filled her eyes. Kicking out, Evie was desperate to break free. They’d ambushed her just as she’d been about to get into the shower, and had set upon her.
Shouting at the top of her voice, Evie’s distressed calls for help were of no use. Instead of persuading anyone to help her, Evie’s cries were just making the whole ordeal worse: they alerted all the other students in the dormitory to her attack, and now crowds of her classmates ventured out of their rooms to investigate the commotion. The group of girls holding her were delighted to have so many onlookers.
‘Please leave me alone. Get off me.’ Tears stung her eyes as she begged and pleaded, but like a pack of excitable hyenas laughing in her face, the gang were relentless.
Curled up into a ball, Evie felt her legs being wrenched apart as one of the girls grabbed her arms and held them flat to the floor above her head.
‘Please.’ Evie was unable to control the heavy, pathetic sobs that escaped from her mouth.
Evie had tried so hard not to cry, but now, how could she not? Lying spread-eagled on the communal hallway floor completely exposed, she was vulnerable. Completely humiliated as everyone stood around her laughing.
‘Hold her legs there.’ Madeline Porter, the group’s ringleader, squatted down on the floor as she shouted out instructions to the others. Her plump face was twisted with hate as she peered down at Evie’s skinny frame with scrutiny.
‘Let me go,’ Evie begged, but she could see in Madeline’s face that the girl was only just getting started.
Madeline Porter had been making her life hell since the day Evie started at the school seven long years ago. Evie had barely had time to grieve for her beautiful mother, for whom she’d been named, when her dad had packed her off to board at Walborough Girls’ School.
He had the best intentions, she knew that. The Buckinghamshire private school was said to be one of the most exclusive in the country. He wanted her away from the morbidity of the house, so that she could still have a chance not to let her mother’s sudden death overshadow the rest of her life.
But Evie had hated it from th
e very first moment. Just nine years old, Madeline had set upon Evie, singling her out. She’d seen Evie for what she was – an easy target – and the girl had taken great pleasure in spreading rumours about Evie and her family. Turning the other girls against her, by telling them that the only reason Evie was able to attend the eight thousand pounds a term school was because Evie’s father wasn’t just a boxer, he was a gangster. Madeline told everyone that Evie’s dad had robbed a jewellers in Mayfair. Her family were crooks, and everyone believed her. Madeline’s dad worked for the Met, after all.
Evie had quickly landed the nickname of Dodgy-Goods-Woods, a name she had carried around for years. And the other girls, influenced by Madeline, had distanced themselves from her.
Slowly, over the years, the bullying had got worse. Now, instead of just name calling, it had turned more physical. The girls purposely destroyed her belongings, pulled her hair, tripped her up.
But today, Madeline Porter was taking her assault to a whole other level.
Evie screamed in terror as she felt something metal and cold between her thighs. ‘Ahh what’s the matter, Evie? Bet you wish you had your daddy here to protect you now, don’t you?’ Prising Evie’s legs open even wider with her knees Madeline Porter held the can up and sprayed Evie’s groin area with the coloured hair spray.
Laughter erupted from the group once more.
‘The colour suits you,’ Madeline taunted. ‘Mouldy green, for little miss prissy knickers. Bet this is the first time your minge has seen the light of day, isn’t it?’
‘What in God’s name is going on out here?’
Hearing the house-mistress’s voice, Evie felt relief wash over her, as the girls immediately sprang to their feet, feigning innocence when Mrs. Parks neared.
Staring at the group of girls, then at Evie, who had her hands strategically placed, covering her tiny breasts and spray of pubic hair, Mrs. Parks could clearly see what had happened here.
‘Girls. Get yourselves down to the hall immediately. The end of term assembly will be starting shortly,’ Mrs. Parks scolded, her voice stern. Then watching as the group of girls sauntered off, sniggering quietly amongst themselves, Mrs. Parks turned to Evie. ‘Look at the state of you, Evie Woods. Go and get yourself cleaned up this instant,’ Mrs. Parks reprimanded, haughtily. ‘There are only two days left of term and I really haven’t got time for such immature nonsense.’
Evie felt dumb-founded.
Searching Mrs. Parks’s face for even so much as a hint of compassion, Evie knew that her teacher must know that she’d been deliberately set upon. Mrs. Parks must know that she was being bullied by Madeline Porter and her so-called cronies – everyone knew.
Yet they chose to turn a blind eye.
Even now, Mrs. Parks seemed set on playing down the vicious attack, almost insinuating that Evie being dragged naked from the shower, and publicly mortified was somehow her own fault. Like she’d taken part in some kind of silly game.
‘Go on.’ Mrs. Parks clapped her hands, forcing Evie out of her stunned trance-like demeanour as the girl looked at her teacher questioningly. Surely Mrs. Parks should help her? Surely she could see that Evie was the victim here?
But instead, Evie was met with a look of contempt.
‘And if you’re late for assembly I’ll be putting you on litter duties at lunch time, so chop chop.’
Standing up, baring her small naked breasts and her splay of bright green pubic hair, which Madeline Porter and her cronies had just inflicted on her, Evie wanted the ground to swallow her up.
‘You’ve got five minutes.’
Walking back into her room, Evie felt numb. Not once had she told a single soul about the excessive bullying that she’d suffered here at Walborough Girls’ School. It’d just make things worse. Yet on the few occasions that Madeline and her disciples had been caught red-handed, the teachers had chosen to ignore it.
Standing under the scalding hot water as it cascaded down her naked body, Evie scrubbed herself vigorously with a flannel. Lathering the soap up between her legs, she tried to scrub away not only the bright coloured dye, but also the humiliation she had endured.
She could still hear the chorus of laughter the girls had made, mocking her as they got their kicks.
For years she’d endured the countless torment. The vicious threats, the name calling. Lately, though, the bullying was escalating beyond any form of control, and today had been the worst yet. What was to come?
Unable to get all the remnants of the dye off, Evie gave up. Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her naked body, and walked back through to her bedroom.
She could hear the cluster of doors slamming one by one down the corridor as the other girls all made their way down to the assembly hall and Evie knew that she was going to be late now. Another reason for them all to laugh at her again, when she got chastised by the headmistress in front of them all for her poor timekeeping.
Throwing on her uniform, she was determined to walk in there with her head held high. She wouldn’t let them see that they had made her cry, that it bothered her. She was an expert at hiding her true feelings. She’d been doing it for years.
Even when she went home for the holidays she had to put on an act, and pretend that she was happy. She’d be mortified if her dad found out just how weak and unpopular she was.
She swept her hair into a tight bun on top of her head, and left her face devoid of make-up as always. She’d slip her glasses on, and if she ran she might just make it. But she couldn’t find them.
Lifting up the damp towel she searched underneath, then chucking it back down she remembered that she’d left them on her bed.
She couldn’t see them.
Pulling back the cover she put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from gagging. A dark brown trail of excrement had been smeared all over the inside of her bed sheets, the rancid odour making her retch. Her glasses had been purposely covered in shit too, and placed in the middle of the mess.
Evie wanted to cry.
She was trying so hard to stay in control, to not let them break her, but they were so persistent, so mean.
After years of suffering the constant torment of Madeline Porter and her cronies, Evie Woods had had enough.
People only treated you how you let them, and Evie had been letting these girls belittle her for far too long. It was time that she stood up for herself.
The girls probably thought that what they’d done was hilarious, but it was the final straw.
Evie wasn’t going to take their shit anymore.
Chapter Seven
Resting the cue just under his chin, Raymond Marks effortlessly lined up his next shot. Gently tapping the white ball he sank the black into the pocket, finishing off the game in one swift, smooth movement.
‘I don’t know why you put yourself through it, mate. You know that I’ll thrash the arse off of you every single time.’ Flashing Harry a triumphant smirk, Raymond loved winding his friend up. Snooker was about the only thing that Harry wasn’t much cop at, and knowing how competitive he could be, Raymond couldn’t help but feel smug at his win.
‘Not every single time actually,’ Harry countered as he placed the cue back in its holder on the wall and walked the length of his games room, back over to his stall at the bar. ‘You seem to forget about that one time down at The Manors. If my memory serves me correctly, I was on fucking fire that night, wiped the floor and the snooker table with you.’
Raymond shook his head then and laughed. ‘The Manors? The youth club? Jesus Christ, Harry, we were fourteen years old. I’m surprised that you can even remember that far back. Still, I suppose you have to hang on to your one and only victory, eh? And we both know the only reason you beat me was because I was otherwise occupied that night. I had a handicap. Don’t you remember that Karen? Two years older than us and tits to die for. She spent the
entire game eyeing me up. I couldn’t concentrate at all.’
‘Yeah she was a distraction, wasn’t she?’ Harry laughed now too. Karen Wards had been one of the best looking girls down at The Manors and it was common knowledge that Raymond had had a massive crush on the girl. ‘She wasn’t cheap either. Cost me two Curly Wurlys and a packet of Black Jacks to get her to agree to my little plan.’
‘Plan? Oh have a laugh, you mean to tell me that you set me up?’ Raymond shook his head. Why didn’t it surprise him? Harry always was a crafty sod, sharp as a knife even back when they were kids.
‘It’s only taken you, what? Just over forty years to work that one out. Anyway, from what I remember it didn’t work out too badly for you in the end? I asked her to distract you from the game; the rest of it had nothing to do with me.’ Harry raised his eyebrow. His plan to have Karen Wards drape herself at the opposite end of the snooker table and pout seductively at Raymond had worked out better than he’d anticipated, and had most definitely gone in his friend’s favour.
‘Fair enough, mate, I’ll let you off. I may have lost the game, but I certainly won the prize that night.’ Raymond grinned again at the memory of the fumble he’d encountered, as the experienced girl had hitched her miniskirt up and let him have sex with her up against the wall at the back of the youth club. Losing his virginity to Karen Wards had been a consolation prize and a half for losing out on a snooker game to Harry.
‘So, what was it you were going to tell me earlier, about the casino? Did you have some trouble?’ Harry asked as Raymond took a seat next to him.
‘No, no trouble. I just ran into your old mate Terry Stranks. Thought you’d wanna know that the philandering toe-rag has been up to his old tricks again.’
Harry felt himself clench up. Just hearing Terry’s name got his back up. But Raymond was right: whatever that man was up to, Harry wanted to know.
‘That bloke is a first class cunt. Did he know that you’d clocked him?’
Bad Blood Page 5
