Bad Blood

by Kelleher, Casey

  She knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep again unless she found out what had woken her.

  Tiptoeing down the hallway, Kelly’s heart was beating fast in her chest as she heard the noise again.

  A loud tapping, coming from the main bar.

  If it was bloody Christopher again, she was going to kill him. He couldn’t just keep turning up here whenever he felt like it. Especially in the middle of the night when she was here alone with the kids. It wasn’t fair.

  Quickening her pace, Kelly was starting to feel angry now. Christopher may have a temper on him. So did she. She wasn’t going to put up with this shit, especially after the way he had spoken to her earlier. She was going to nip it in the bud. Tonight would be the last time he turned up here unannounced and uninvited, that was for sure.

  Nearing the bar door she could hear the inconsistent banging, much louder now. Cowering in the doorway, she listened, and berated herself for feeling so scared. She was being stupid and she couldn’t just stand here all night. Taking a deep breath she mustered up all the courage she could find and went in to investigate.

  Switching on the main light, Kelly felt a rush of relief sweep over her as she scanned the room. There was no sign of Christopher and as her eyes followed the banging sound, she realised that she’d stupidly left one of the small top windows open. She must have missed one when she was locking up.

  Climbing up on the chair, the window swung in time with the wind and bashed against the pane once more. Kelly reached out and pulled it shut, securing the latch tightly.

  Then she groaned as she noticed the window farther down by one of the booths. The carpet was covered in shattered glass where it had been smashed. Probably bloody kids. The little buggers didn’t have a clue about respect anymore. Getting their kicks from destroying other people’s property. If her Billy ever went round behaving like that she’d personally pull his pants down and give him a good wallop, no matter what age he was.

  Wide awake now, she’d have to get some boarding from somewhere and block it up for the time being. The window led out to the side alleyway of the bar, so the chances of any opportunists walking by and trying their luck getting in here to steal something were slim enough. Again, Kelly didn’t want to give her dad or her brother any opportunity to think that she couldn’t cope by herself. They already seemed to think she was incompetent by the way they had all purposely gone behind her back.

  Walking over to the bar, Kelly grabbed herself a glass and held it up to the optic. She’d go down to the cellar and get some cardboard in a minute. First she needed a drink.

  Her nerves were shot to pieces at having to come down here and investigate what the noises were, and her brain had played out all sorts of scenarios, all of them wildly dramatic and totally over the top.

  Still, she’d earned herself a drink by being so brave. She felt proud, in fact.

  Who needed Terry, or her dad? Not her.

  Besides, a nice stiff brandy was probably her only hope of getting any more sleep tonight.

  Drinking it back in one large gulp, the burning feeling numbed the back of her throat, warming her instantly.

  Then she heard another bang directly behind her. This time it was twice as loud and definitely deliberate.

  It was the exact sound that she’d heard when she’d been upstairs.

  Feeling her skin prickle with goose bumps, Kelly had an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘Terry?’ she called out, almost dropping the glass in fright.

  Turning around, Kelly Stranks realised that she wasn’t alone.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Keeping low to the floor, so that he would remain undetected, Terry’s hands were shaking uncontrollably as he pressed them against the cold concrete. Creeping along on all fours, he swept the pavement with the palm of his hand as he went so that he wouldn’t get cut. There was barely any light down this alley, and he could hardly see the tiny shards of glass that were scattered beneath the broken window. He could feel them, though, crunching under his feet with every movement.

  Standing completely still directly under the sill, Terry waited. Crouching down in the shadows he could hear voices. Men’s voices. They were muffled at first, but then there was shouting. He thought they sounded familiar, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Taking a deep breath Terry knew what he had to do. He couldn’t just stand out here like a spare part. He needed to go in. Reaching his hands up onto the thin metal pane, he hoisted himself up onto the concrete sill. Then, perched awkwardly, he listened again.

  This time it had gone quiet.

  Trying to work out what he was going to do, Terry peered down inside the window. Directly beneath him, there was a booth.

  He could lower himself down into that, and somehow keep down. Maybe then he might just be able to stay undetected, until he knew what he was up against.

  Lowering his leg down, Terry silently moved his body farther inside, careful of the long pointy shard of glass above him.

  The voices were back, louder now.

  Terry’s stomach churned, as the realisation hit him.

  He did recognise them.

  Before Terry had the chance to do or say anything else, he felt the strong grip of a hand grab him roughly by his neck and yank him back out to the alleyway.

  Thrown viciously to the ground, Terry’s heart lurched. He’d been so caught up in trying to get inside the bar undetected that he hadn’t realised that he’d been seen.

  ‘Well, well. Look who we have here,’ Terry heard the voice say in the darkness.

  Terry opened his mouth to try to explain what he’d been doing. His voice disappeared as quickly as the almighty blow to the top of his head had been inflicted upon him.

  Feeling just seconds of the excruciating pain, he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Lying on the cold floor of the alleyway, Terry Stranks was out cold.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘Oh here he is! The wanderer returns . . . Harry “The Hammer” Woods, Champion of the fucking world.’ Evelyn Woods slurred her words as she staggered out of the bedroom, slopping her gin and tonic all over the carpet as she lunged towards her husband, who was making his way up the stairs. Unsteady on her feet she lost her balance, and fell to her knees on the carpet. Laughing, Evelyn caught the disappointed look on Harry’s face.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Evelyn, it’s three o’clock in the afternoon. Where are the children?’ Having just driven straight from the airport, excited to see his family and laden with gifts as always, the sinking feeling inside his chest was quickly replaced with anger as he realised that Evelyn was wasted yet again.

  It was becoming a reoccurring event. Harry went away on business while Evelyn stayed home and drank herself into a paranoid stupor.

  This was the worst he’d seen her, though. She looked like she could barely stand up. It was partly his own fault for always turning a blind eye: he’d been as much in denial over the years as she had. But now, seeing her in this state yet again, he was starting to feel out of his depth. The more depressed Evelyn got, the more she drank. It was a vicious circle and it was happening far too often for his liking. It wasn’t fair on the children. Evie was only nine. And a sensitive soul she was too.

  ‘The kids? They’re out. With their friends like always, they don’t need me anymore. Wonder where they get that from? So I had a few drinks . . . So what? What do you expect me to do, huh, Harry? Sit around sipping green tea like some kind of trophy wife, while you’re off gallivanting all over the world, probably getting your leg over with anything that breathes. You must think I’m bloody stupid.’ She held out the beautiful emerald brooch that she had found hidden away deep inside one of Harry’s pairs of trousers. Evelyn stared at her husband’s face for his reaction.

  And it was there.

  The flicker of being caught out. Gu
ilt had flashed in her husband’s eyes, only fleetingly, but it had been there all the same.

  Groaning silently inside, Harry looked down at the jewel. He’d thought that he or Raymond must have dropped it after the Mayfair robbery, and he’d resigned himself to the fact that it had just disappeared. After a week of searching everywhere for it, all Harry had been able to do was pray that it didn’t turn up in the wrong hands and incriminate them somehow. Evelyn finding it had been the last thing that he’d expected.

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘Where did I find it? What the fuck has that got to do with anything?’ Evelyn screeched. ‘What is it? Some kind of gaudy fucking present for one of your whores?’

  Harry rubbed his head.

  He couldn’t tell Evelyn where he’d got it from. He never told her anything that related to his business. All she needed to know was that the bills were paid and Harry had more money than she could spend. And Evelyn could spend money like it was an Olympic sport.

  He was going to have to think fast if he wanted to convince her that he hadn’t hidden it from her on purpose.

  ‘I bought it for you, Evelyn.’

  ‘Oh how lovely, Harry. Silly me. Oh I feel so foolish now. Why didn’t you say?’ Tossing the jewel behind her into the bedroom, as if it was just some cheap crappy toy out of a Christmas cracker, Evelyn turned back to her husband. ‘What do I look like, huh? Like I was born yesterday?’

  Harry shook his head. Evelyn was wrong. The more she drank, the more insecure and suspicious of him she became. And that’s all she had, suspicions. Totally unfounded, completely untrue.

  Only Evelyn was too busy draining bottles of gin to realise it. They’d been having the same row now for years. Fuelled with drink, Evelyn’s constant accusations were grinding him down. He had told her until he was blue in the face that she could trust him, that he’d never hurt her. God knows, he’d spent years trying to prove to her how much he meant it too. What more could he do? When Evelyn had complained that she was finding it hard to manage the house and the kids without him, he’d hired a gardener, a chef and a housekeeper. When Evelyn had complained of being lonely, he’d surprised her with a puppy to keep her company. When he was away, he always made a point to ring her first thing in the morning and last thing at night so that she would know that she was his first and last thought. Other than give up his career and stay home with her, Harry was all out of ideas as to how to make her see that she was his world.

  ‘Evelyn, please don’t. We’ve been through this a thousand times. The brooch was for you. I was having it cleaned. It was a surprise. I wouldn’t even so much as look at another woman. You know that.’

  ‘Well you’re hardly going to come home and bloody confess to it, are you?’ Evelyn shrieked before downing another huge gulp of her drink.

  ‘I’m not going to confess anything, because it’s not bloody true. The drink is making you talk shit. We can’t go on like this, Evelyn. You need help.’ Harry had tears in his eyes now. His wife’s face was twisted with anger and bitterness.

  Harry knew that she was depressed, that she was an alcoholic, and it pained him so much that he couldn’t help her. That he didn’t know how to help her.

  ‘Help? Help!’ Staring over the rim of her glass, Evelyn screeched now, indignation filling her voice at Harry’s accusation. ‘I’m not fucking ill, Harry. I’m lonely. Lonely, bored and fed up of our shitty life.’

  Evelyn could see her husband’s crestfallen face as she spoke: he looked shocked, defeated. But she didn’t care.

  She wasn’t falling for his bullshit.

  He was a man, and they were all the same.

  She’d painstakingly watched her own mother turn to the bottle after finding out that her father had cheated when she was a child, and now history was repeating itself.

  Only she hadn’t caught Harry at it yet.

  Unlike her mother she would be dammed if Harry thought for one second that she would put up with his lies and betrayals. She’d never let any man humiliate her. She was too strong for all that.

  ‘You might think I’m the fool, Harry, but the only real fool here is you.’ Evelyn laughed now, a loud forced cackle escaping from her mouth. ‘You’re not the only one who could go off and have affairs, Harry.’

  ‘Stop talking nonsense.’ Grabbing the glass from Evelyn’s hand, Harry stormed past his wife and slammed the drink down on the dressing table just inside their bedroom. He wasn’t going to bite. She always did this, always tried to push him too far. ‘You seriously need to curb your drinking. This shit is turning your brain to mush. It’s making you paranoid. Making you think things that aren’t real . . . Look at the state of you, you’re a mess.’

  Evelyn snapped.

  It was Harry’s fault she was like this.

  She’d spent most of their married life on her own, while he flitted off around the world. He had given her the big house, the expensive cars, but where was he when she was lonely? Where was he when she needed him? And now he had the cheek to say that she was a mess? Like this was all her fault.

  ‘I’m leaving you, Harry.’

  Harry rolled his eyes now. He’d heard this one before too. Evelyn threatened it every time they rowed.

  ‘I’ve packed a bag, and I’m leaving you . . .’

  Following Evelyn’s gaze, Harry spotted the suitcase leaning up against her dresser.

  Evelyn could see the flicker in Harry’s eyes as he acknowledged that she really did mean it this time, but before he could say anything, Evelyn couldn’t help but twist the knife in some more. ‘I’ve fallen in love with someone else . . .’

  Evelyn could see that her words stung him, and she was glad. Finally some real emotion.

  ‘He knows how to make me happy, Harry, how to satisfy me . . .’

  Harry flinched.

  ‘Who? When?’ Harry’s voice was strained. In shock now, Evelyn’s words struck him like a physical blow. She’d been cheating on him. All this time, all the accusations, and it had been her that had being doing the dirty on him this entire time.

  Standing before him, Evelyn had a look of complete indifference on her face as she confessed her indiscretion. Her eyes flashed anger, yet she had a smirk plastered on her perfectly made-up face. She looked like a stranger, an impostor.

  Laughing, Evelyn registered the pain in her husband’s eyes; she knew that she had got to him.

  ‘Oh come on, Harry, like any of that matters now. It’s been going on behind your back for years. We barely even have sex anymore. You’re never here and when you are you’re always so tired. And what can I say? I’m a woman, I have needs.’ Sneering now, Evelyn shook her head. The look on his face was so pitiful, if she wasn’t so full of animosity towards him she would have almost felt sorry for him.

  ‘Don’t worry, Harry, I won’t tell anyone how you’re a champion boxer in the ring, but a flop in the bedroom.’ Evelyn smirked now, she was on a roll. ‘There’s so much more that you don’t know, Harry. So many secrets . . .’

  Evelyn’s next sentence stabbed him like a sharp knife deep in his gut.

  Harry stood shocked at the revelation.

  He couldn’t believe it.

  Wouldn’t believe it.

  Evelyn was laughing now. She knew that her next sentence would finish him off, and she was actually enjoying hurting him. Blurting out what she’d been keeping from him for all these years, Evelyn felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

  Her confession was the final blow.

  Clenching his fists, Harry wanted to hurt her then. Just like she had hurt him.

  It all happened so quickly.

  Looking into her eyes, Harry could see the pure shock on Evelyn’s face as she felt herself being pushed backwards down the staircase. He heard the sickening brutal crunch as her head slammed against the wall, breaking both her nec
k and her fall.

  Steadying himself as he clutched onto the banister, Evelyn’s last words still ringing loudly in his ears made him feel sick to his stomach.

  Fighting back the bile that rose at the back of his throat, Harry stared down in horror to where she lay. Pushed to her death like a straggly rag doll, her lifeless body strewn in a mangled heap at the foot of the stairs, her dress scrunched up around her thighs.

  She was dead.

  Gasping for breath at the vivid nightmare, Harry Woods threw the damp bed covers off him, and flung himself forwards so that he was sitting up in his bed. His hot, clammy skin was soaked in perspiration.

  Holding his chest, he struggled to breathe.

  The familiar nightly occurrence that Harry was growing accustomed to was getting worse, much worse. Every time he lay flat on his back his breathing became laboured, and tonight his chest was wheezy as hell.

  So much for growing old gracefully.

  The only small mercy was that at least his coughing fit had woken him from his nightmare. It was like Evelyn was haunting him. Eyeing the picture of her that sat pride of place on his bedside cabinet, he wondered if maybe he should take it down, tuck it away in a drawer somewhere.

  At times it was so painful to look at her that it physically hurt him.

  This was Harry’s comeuppance, he guessed, this was his karma. His cross to bear.

  Every day he’d have to look into the same questioning eyes and feel racked with guilt. Harry felt the tears filling his eyes as his mind went over that fateful day once more. He had replayed it so many times over the years. Again and again inside his head.

  The memories were so raw, so painful. Even now, all these years later.

  How he’d lied to the paramedics, to the police.

  He’d had to. He had to salvage what was left of his family for the kids’ sake. For all of their sakes.

  And the authorities had believed him. Unquestioningly they had seen his genuine grief and believed every word Harry had told them.