by Kerry Kaya
“Are you okay, Cath?”
Closing her eyes tight, Cathy took a deep breath before turning around. “Course I am,” she said, fixing a smile upon her face.
“Really?” Stella cocked her head to one side. “What Angie said about Samson Ivers,” she gave an embarrassed smile, “I’m sorry. I walked in and overheard. I wasn’t purposely eavesdropping on the conversation.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” With her back positioned against the front door, Cathy’s face was white. “How could she, Stell? How could my own mother keep something like that from me?”
Stella raised her eyebrows. She had no answers for her sister-in-law. Hadn’t they all told Kieran the exact same lie over the years? “And what do we do, now that you know about Barkley?”
“Barkley?” Cathy’s voice became instantly hard. “This changes nothing. That bastard is still going to pay.” Her voice was high and tinged with hysteria. “In fact, I think I will enjoy bringing him down that little bit more now.”
Watching her sister-in-law walk away from her, Stella’s face was ashen. God help them all, and more to the point, God help Devan Barkley.
Chapter 28
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Devan was roaring at the top of his voice as he stared at the scene before him in abject horror.
Spread out on the double bed was a potbellied naked man in his late fifties, a shard of glass was protruding from his neck. The tangled bedsheets, headboard, walls, and ceiling were coated in a film of blood.
Monica stood with her hands on her hips and her breath came out in short little bursts. “He was a fucking nonce, wanted Sheryl to dress up as a little girl and call him daddy. When she refused, he tried to beat her black and blue.”
Devan turned to look at the girl in question. Crouched in the corner of the room, Sheryl shook uncontrollably. Her startling green eyes were staring into space, and her skin was as deathly pale as the corpse laid out on the bed. Her blood-splattered blonde hair was pulled up into pigtails and she was dressed in a school uniform, the pleated skirt barely skimming past her backside. He shook his head in consternation, his dreadlocks whipping across his face from the force of the action. “Where the fuck is Marty?”
Monica sneered. “The ponce is still in the office, refused to come out. Where the fuck did you find him? I thought he was supposed to be a heavy?”
Devan’s face hardened. Marty, he would deal with later. He nodded toward the body. “Did he pay with cash?”
Monica nodded her head. The majority of punters did. The last thing they would want was a paper trail for their wives or girlfriends to find that would lead them back to the brothel.
“Then turn out his pockets and get rid of him,” Devan growled. “And as for her,” he jerked his head toward Sheryl, his expression one of distaste, as though her very presence offended him, “she’s out.”
Monica’s mouth dropped open, and looking from the body, to Sheryl, to Devan, her body bristled. “You can’t do that.”
“I just fucking did.” He curled his hand into a fist, daring the slapper to answer him back.
Monica rolled her eyes, and clicking her fingers, she gestured for the girls standing in the doorway, watching the spectacle unfold with interest, to help move the body. Finally, she moved toward Sheryl. “Come on, darlin’,” she cajoled, “let’s get you out of here, eh?”
Devan watched her lead the shaking young woman from the room. “Oh, and, Mon,” he called after her, “make sure that she doesn’t talk.”
Monica rolled her eyes a second time. That went without saying.
* * *
Marty was terrified, and rightly so. Hearing a set of heavy footsteps thunder down the staircase, he braced himself for what was to come. The office door almost came off of its hinges as it crashed against the wall, and standing in the doorway snarling like a rabid dog, was Devan.
“You fucking ponce.” Devan charged around the desk and ploughed his fist into Marty’s face. “You no good, fucking ponce.” He punched his fist forward a second and third time. “Made yourself comfortable, did you?” Snatching up the chocolate biscuits Marty had left out on the desk, he slammed them into Marty’s face. “Is that all you think about?” He bellowed in Marty’s ear. “Stuffing your fat face?”
Cowering, Marty held his arms over his head and cried. How could he even begin to tell the man that it was his scars that had kept him holed up in the office, not fear. Before he could answer, Devan had grasped him around the back of the neck, and was dragging him from around the desk, toward the door.
“Get up them fucking stairs,” Devan roared, as he half-dragged and half-kicked Marty up the staircase toward the bedrooms. “And do what I fucking pay you to do, and sort this shit out.”
At the top of the staircase, the girls turned their heads at the commotion. The repulsion they felt at seeing his scarred, chocolate-smeared face was evident across their own faces, reinforcing Marty’s belief that he looked hideous, that he was, in fact, a monster.
* * *
Snatching the money out of Lucas’s hand, Angie scowled at him. Two-thousand lousy quid, that was all it had taken to break the bond that she and her only daughter had shared. Admittedly, that bond had only been held together by a thin thread, but still, all thanks to her greed, her need to have a bit of bunce in her purse, the relationship was well and truly severed. Not for the first time in her lifetime, did she wish that she could cut out her own wicked tongue.
“How did she take the news?” Leaning his forearms across the steering wheel, there was genuine concern in Lucas’s voice, and it was then that Angie turned on him.
“How do you think?” she spat. “She was hardly performing cartwheels at the prospect of Samson being her father.” Her face crumpled and big fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “She chucked me out of the house, accused me of killing the boys. Me,” she cried, “me, killing them.” She took a tissue out of her handbag and dabbed at her watery eyes. “I mean, what a wicked thing to say. I loved those boys, loved them. I idolised the ground they walked on.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. Despite her words, Angie would be hard pushed to rattle off her grandsons’ birthdates without having to think it through first. “And what about Devan Barkley? You warned her off of him?”
“I did my bit,” Angie growled. “For all the thanks it got me. She’s a hardnosed cow, that girl, always has been. Even as a tot, she always had something to say for herself.” It was a lie, of course.
“Still,” Lucas nodded across to The Jolly Fisherman and said tongue-in-cheek, “the pub will be back up and running soon. That will give you something to look forward to.”
“Me, step foot in there?” Pursing her lips, she stuffed the money into her handbag and yanked across the zip. “Me, spend my money in there? Line her pockets? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Lucas watched as she flung open the car door. Instinctively, he knew that, come opening night, Angie would be there. She wouldn’t be able to help herself.
He waited for her to slam the door closed, without so much as a goodbye, and then sped away from the kerb. As he drove off of the estate, he could only hope and pray that Angie had, in fact, got through to her daughter.
* * *
Less than a week later, a wide smile was plastered across Cathy’s face, as she made her way inside the portacabin in Stratford.
The three men inside rose from their seats, and sensing their discomfort, she raised her hand in the air. “No need to stand to attention,” she grinned.
Sharing a knowing look between themselves, they sat back down.
“It’s the pub.” As always, she looked immaculate, and as she smiled, she flicked a long lock of blonde hair out of her face. “As you know, we are reopening again tonight, and I would like to invite you all personally.” She rested her gaze on Lucas, forcing the smile to stay on her face. “All of you are welcome.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows. “You do realise that I own a stake in the pubs,
” he told her in a gruff voice. “I don’t need your invitation to step foot inside my own boozer, Cathy.”
“Cheers for that,” Charlie hastily interrupted. “Wouldn’t miss the grand reopening for anything.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Mooney,” Darren joined in. “It’d be an honor.”
“Good.” Ignoring Lucas’s remark, Cathy looked around the cabin. “Well,” she said, “that was all I came for.” She nodded her head at them. “I’ll see the three of you tonight then.” She smiled widely and turned to leave. “Oh, and by the way, the first drink is on the house.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows a second time. “Giving away free booze? Are you trying to put us out of business already?”
Halting beside the open door, Cathy arched her own eyebrows. “After the first drink, they’ll come back for more, don’t you worry about that.” The smile left her face as she glared at him. “I’m not a complete imbecile, you know. I do know how to run a business, and your pockets will still be lined come the end of the night.”
As quickly as she’d arrived, she was gone again. The only evidence that she had even been there was the lingering scent of her perfume.
Lounging back on the chair, Lucas looked to Charlie and Darren. “What the fuck was that all about?”
Darren shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno, but I think it’s safe to say that you’re not her favourite person, mate.”
Lucas sighed in a dejected manner. Tell him something he didn’t already know.
* * *
Walking back across the forecourt toward her car, a devious smile was etched across Cathy’s face. The grand reopening was the perfect alibi she needed. Anyone who was anyone would be in attendance to witness her playing the perfect host. In a strange way, it was fitting that she had chosen this night to end Devan Barkley’s life—a true tribute to both Paul and the boys, and one that she was very much looking forward to.
* * *
By seven thirty that evening, The Jolly Fisherman was packed to the rafters, and after being closed for a considerable length of time, the regulars all breathed a sigh of relief at its reopening.
Dressed to kill, Cathy stood behind the bar. Stopping to chat to those customers who she had known since childhood, she played the game, and afforded them her brightest smile.
The clash of the tills opening and closing were like music to her ears, and with a queue at the bar that was at least four bodies deep, she knew that this night was a long time coming, and much anticipated by all and sundry.
“Hello, darling.” Angie, despite her initial refusal to come along to the opening night, stood in line at the bar, awaiting to get served. “Get me a dry white wine will you, Cath? I’m bloody parched.”
Cathy looked her mother over, and giving a slight nod of her head, shouted out, “Sue, serve Angie, would you?” With those parting words, she walked away without a backward glance, leaving an open-mouthed Angie in her wake. Oh, she would let her mother back into the fold at some point, but not before she had stewed in her own juices first. As far as she was concerned, it was exactly what Angie deserved.
* * *
Lucas sipped at a pint of cola, silently observing Cathy. Her movements were both easy and carefree. She looked well, happy even, and he smiled softly to himself. It was good to see that she had come out the other side stronger than ever. From across the other side of the public bar, he took note of Stella, Katie, and Donna. There was a nervousness about them that was at odds with the majority of the punters, and he sighed sadly.
“Good night, eh?” Darren broke his thoughts. “It’s good to see the old place up and running again. Paul would have been fucking proud of her,” he nodded his head toward Cathy, “she’s done a blinding job with the place.”
Lucas nodded, and looking around him at the newly decorated décor, he couldn’t help but agree. He’d been skeptical when he’d first been told of her plans for the pub, but even he had to admit, she’d pulled it off. Not only did the bar look fresh, but the newly purchased round polished tables, upholstered chairs, and strategically placed leather sofas gave the pub a modern twist.
He sipped once more at his drink. Taller than the average customer, he had a good view of everything that went on around him. He scanned the bar area over the heads of the crowd. Where was she? He narrowed his eyes as he observed the length of the bar. Just seconds, that was all it had taken for her to disappear from his eye line. He snapped his head to where Stella had been standing, and noting that she, too, had disappeared, along with Katie and Donna, his gut began to churn.
Chapter 29
With her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, Cathy kicked off her high-heeled shoes and shoved her feet into a pair of dark coloured trainers. Already, she had discarded the sequined dress she had been wearing for a pair of black jeans and a dark coloured hoodie jacket. She threw the car keys toward Donna and urged her to unlock the doors, all the while, looking over her shoulder. Her face was partially obscured by the hood that she had pulled down over her head.
“Move,” she hissed, “we need to get out of here, and fast.”
Dressed head to toe in black, Donna did as she was bade. Urging Stella and Katie into the car, she slipped behind the wheel and pushed the key into the ignition.
“Go,” Cathy cried. In the rear-view mirror, she checked to see that they hadn’t been followed, and as the car purred to life, she relaxed into the seat.
“Are you sure about this, Cath?” Stella asked, in between biting on her thumb nail.
“I’ve never been surer.” She pulled a rucksack up from the footwell and placed it on her lap. Unzipping the bag, she took out several kitchen knives and passed them across.
“What are we supposed to do with these?” Turning the kitchen knife over in her hand, Stella was genuinely perplexed.
“If that bastard so much as looks at you in the wrong way, slice him up.” Ignoring the look of shock that passed across the women’s faces, Cathy turned back in her seat, and carefully lifting out a hand towel, she placed it in her lap and then proceeded to unwrap it.
“Fucking hell, Cath.” Glancing at Cathy’s lap, and more importantly, what she had there, Donna took her eyes off of the road and veered across the lanes, narrowly missing the oncoming traffic. “Jesus Christ, where did you get that from?”
Cathy laughed, and holding up a hand gun, she turned it around, inspecting it as she did so. “It’s not loaded,” she lied, before smiling at Donna’s obvious shock. “Paul may have been a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He would never have left a loaded gun lying around.”
“Where did you get it from, Auntie Cath?” Sitting forward, Katie’s eyes were as equally wide.
“I found it in a shoe box at the bottom of Paul’s wardrobe.” She placed the gun in her lap and caressed the hard metal.
“Jesus fucking wept,” Stella muttered from the back seat.
Cathy smiled once more. “Like I’ve already said, it isn’t loaded, so stop your worrying. All I’m going to do is use it to scare them into doing what we want.”
Locking eyes with Donna in the rear-view mirror, Stella shook her head. They were in over their heads, and with Cathy the driving force behind them, it could only be a recipe for disaster.
* * *
Racing toward his car with Darren and Charlie behind him, Lucas was incensed. Just seconds, that was all it had taken for him to lose her.
“Why weren’t you watching her?” Charlie growled.
“And why weren’t fucking you?” Lucas answered back, shooting Charlie with a hard stare.
They jumped into the car, and starting the ignition, Lucas sped out of the carpark, leaving behind him a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. By his reckoning, they were only a few minutes behind her, fifteen at the very most. Surely, she couldn’t get herself into too much trouble in that short space of time.
Chapter 30
Donna parked the car, and climbing out, she eyed the high street wearily. “I just had a thought.”
<
br /> The three women looked toward her.
“What if he isn’t in there?”
Cathy smiled, and tapping the outline of the gun that she had slipped inside her jacket pocket, she said, “Then we make sure that someone gets him here. We’ve not come here to play games, Donna, and the sooner they realise that, the better it will be for everyone concerned.”
Keeping their heads down low, they walked along the busy high street. Bright lights from nearby shop fronts, takeaways, and bars illuminated the pavement. Around them, people bustled along the street. Some were eager to get home from a hard day at work, more concerned with what they were going to cook for tea, than to take notice of four women dressed head to toe in black. Others were making their way to meet up with friends for the evening, their excited chatter loud to the women’s ears.
Finally, they reached their destination. This end of the street was much more dilapidated than the former end, with buildings boarded up and brightly coloured graffiti sprayed across shuttered shop fronts that had long since gone out of business.
Taking a deep breath, Cathy looked at each of the women in turn, then pulled the gun out from her jacket pocket.
“I don’t like this,” Donna whispered, nodding down at the weapon. “You never said anything about bringing a gun, Cath.”
