by Jacqui Rose
She didn’t even have Raymond’s telephone number to warn him but she couldn’t let them hurt him. Not because of her. Without thinking, she picked up the phone.
‘Police, please.’
The phone went dead. Laila turned round. The first thing she saw was Mahmood come back into the hallway with the telephone wire he’d pulled out of the socket in his hand. The second thing she saw was his fist coming towards her. A moment later, Laila Khan blacked out.
2
Raymond Thompson or ‘Ray-Ray’ as his friends and family called him, looked in the mirror and smiled. He’d been blessed with good genes. His natural sun-kissed blonde hair tumbled onto his forehead, falling short of his dazzling blue eyes. And his big white smile gleamed out cheekily, charming both old and young.
He didn’t have to search far to see where his looks came from. His parents were a handsome couple. In his youth, his father, Freddie, had made Robert Redford look plain. His mother, Tasha, had been a hostess in one of the Soho clubs, persuading the punters to part with their cash for expensive glasses of champagne, whilst keeping their straying hands away. But she’d turned her back on it when she’d fallen in love with his father. And even years later, he knew his parents still turned heads.
Thinking of them made Ray feel sad; taking the edge off his good mood. He sighed heavily. His missed his father. He missed his old life. He wasn’t used to being up north. He was born and bred a Londoner, and had spent his whole life growing up in Soho. And then ten months ago, everything had changed. His father had been given a stretch and everyone, including the police, had been surprised when he’d actually been sent down.
His father was Freddie Thompson. The biggest face in London. One of the untouchables, or so he was supposed to have been, until the coppers had come knocking.
Almost three million in stolen jewellery had been found in one of the hundreds of lock-ups his father owned. Of course, everyone knew it was a set-up. A sting.
It hadn’t mattered that the coppers on the case had been bent, or that the evidence had been tampered with and the jury members squeezed. The powers that be had just wanted to get him off the streets, and the end result was the same. They had Freddie Thompson. The most dangerous man in London. The biggest villain in the south. But to Ray-Ray Thompson, they had his dad.
The eight year sentence had been bad enough, though the barrister and his father’s highly paid legal team had put in an appeal based on a technicality, getting his sentence reduced. So at worst they’d said his father would be walking free by Christmas.
That had been the plan and everyone had been happy. A couple more months inside had been doable. What wasn’t good was what happened after his father’s successful appeal. That was where the real problem lay. And that problem had added a life sentence to his prison term.
Ray-Ray shrugged his shoulders, trying to get rid of the sadness he felt. He didn’t want to think any more. It was summertime, and he refused to let another month go by when all he did was mope around.
Only this morning his mother had told him the best news he’d heard in a long time. They were moving back to Soho. By the end of the summer they’d be back in London amongst their friends and family. They could finally try to start to get some of their life back.
Neither his mother or him had wanted to come up to Bradford, but his father had insisted, and no one argued with Freddie Thompson. Not even when he was sat behind a bulletproof screen in Belmarsh prison. They’d moved to the north for two reasons.
Firstly, his Dad hadn’t known exactly who else besides the coppers were behind the set-up, so he’d wanted to get them out of London whilst his men sounded out the danger; if of course there was any. The second, and the reason they’d ended up specifically in Bradford, was that one of his father’s friends had moved to the north a few years ago to get his daughter away from the drugs scene, and his Dad had asked his friend to keep an eye out for them.
Putting on his black Alexander McQueen shirt, Ray-Ray knew he should’ve been more excited about the move back down South than he was. Yes, it was good news, but each time he thought about it, within a few moments the shine had been taken off his excitement. And two small words told him why. Laila Khan.
It was stupid. She hardly even talked to him. It was him who did all the talking. Bunnying away ten to the dozen whilst she just sat and listened. Staring up at him with her beautiful eyes. Ray-Ray felt soft admitting it, but she was special. What they had was special even though he didn’t quite know what they really had. Even when he’d walked with her to the bus stop together, all she’d really done was occasionally glance at him with her huge brown eyes and smile, holding his hand gently but fearfully. But that had been enough for him. Just being in her presence was enough.
She was shy. He liked that. But more than that, she was different from any of the girls he hung around with in Soho. Instead of legs and tits, blow jobs free and paid for, Laila covered up wearing long skirts and loose tops. She fascinated him. And as his father always said, he knew how to appreciate real beauty. She was stunning and the more she covered up, the more alluring to him she was.
She had long jet-black hair which touched the base of her spine. Big almond eyes pooled with warmth and kindness. To Raymond, Laila was perfect. And as his father used to say about his mother, ‘she was a diamond ring in a muddy football pitch.’
The sound of a car alarm made Ray-Ray look at his platinum Rolex watch; a seventeenth birthday present from his father. He needed to stop thinking about Laila and get a move on. He was supposed to be at the cinema on the other side of town by eight with some of his mates.
He turned to see his mother, Tasha, watching him. She gave him a big smile before gently rearranging his shirt collar.
‘You look a sort, babe. Going anywhere nice?’
His mother’s voice was soft and lulling but her cockney accent was clear to hear.
‘No, just going to the cinema. You don’t look too bad yourself.’
‘I’m going to meet your Auntie Linda; she came up for the day.’ Tasha smiled at her son, holding him a little tighter and a little longer than normal. Both of them knew what she’d just said wasn’t true. Her stepsister Linda was no more likely to leave Soho than the Queen would leave the royal family, and Tasha was grateful to her son for playing along with her untruth. She knew he didn’t feel comfortable with what she was doing; of course she hadn’t said anything to him, but he wasn’t stupid. She knew Ray-Ray would feel like he was betraying his father by not saying anything and therefore feel like he was somehow complicit in the whole situation.
But Tasha also knew Ray-Ray would be in no doubt what would happen to her if Freddie ever got even the slightest hint she was seeing someone else. And no one wanted that. Not her, not Ray-Ray and in a way, not even Freddie. So Ray-Ray played along, not wanting to know any more than he’d already guessed and not asking any questions. And as she said to herself in an attempt to make herself feel better; what he didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. The last thing Tasha Thompson wanted to do was hurt her precious son.
He was so like his father in many ways, but in the one way that mattered he wasn’t. Ray-Ray was kind. He had a heart. Her husband was the opposite. It always amazed her how, despite this, Ray-Ray doted on his father, and his father on him. They idolised each other and turned a blind eye to the parts they didn’t want to see.
Ray-Ray chose to ignore what his father did, much in the way he chose to ignore what Tasha was doing now. Freddie was notorious; putting the fear into the hardest face. That’s what had attracted her to him all those years ago.
Tasha’s father had been a bully and handy with his fists, and her mother had been nowhere to be seen for most of her childhood. The combination of an absent mother and a bully of a father had driven Tasha into Freddie’s arms, seeing him as someone who could protect her from her father. And he had.
Tasha could still remember the day it had happened as if it was yesterday. Her father had been sitting o
n the outside toilet, reading the Racing Post with his kecks round his ankles and no doubt the usual sour look on his face.
After hearing the way her father treated her, Freddie had pulled up outside their house in his Rolls Royce, walked through the house, into the garden, and kicked down the door of the toilet. Her father’s face had been a picture; surprise, then shock, then fear.
Everyone in the East End knew Freddie Thompson and her father hadn’t been any different. The last thing anybody wanted was to be on the wrong side of Freddie, especially with their trousers round their ankles.
Freddie had dragged her father through the kitchen, before kicking him out onto the doorstep. Even now it made Tasha smile to remember her father pleading with Freddie not to hurt him, his trousers still down and his pasty, spotty white arse on show for all the neighbours to see.
That day Freddie had packed up her stuff and moved Tasha in with him. And she’d been with him ever since. Within a week she’d realised she was only swapping one controlling man for another, rather than the man of her dreams.
Even though Freddie was just as much of a bully as her father, at least in his own way Freddie loved her. Her father hadn’t even come close to loving her. Freddie had looked out for her and wouldn’t let anyone hurt her, and for that Tasha was grateful. He’d never raised a hand to her, whereas her father constantly had. However, there was one big difference between the two men. If Tasha ever cheated or said she was leaving, even though he’d never laid a finger on her, she knew Freddie Thompson would kill her.
Tasha looked over her son’s shoulder to check herself in the mirror. She looked good. Her blonde highlighted hair tumbled past her shoulders. Her constantly tanned skin glowed and her curvaceous figure hadn’t changed much since she was twenty.
She knew she was taking a risk. A huge risk. But she couldn’t help it. Last month she’d tried to stop it but after a week she’d found it impossible to curtail her feelings. Her sister had told her it was madness. ‘Tash, Freddie ain’t going to be happy with just giving you a hiding. He’ll kill you and what’s more, he’ll probably bleeding kill me an’ all.’
Tasha didn’t need to be told; she knew. She’d never meant it to happen, but some things in life you just couldn’t help. And love was one of them.
Tasha sighed, watching the frown forming on her forehead in the mirror as doubt started to show on her face and a sudden dread swept over her. She turned away, not wanting to see her own fear reflecting back at her. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. Freddie was banged up, she was in Bradford. Perhaps it would be alright … it had to be.
Standing on her tiptoes to kiss Ray-Ray on his cheek, she purred as she spoke. ‘Okay baby. I’m going.’
Ray-Ray watched his mother as she walked out of the room but before she got to the doorway he grabbed her hand.
‘Mum … be careful … please.’
Tasha smiled; a deep warmth showing in her eyes, before turning to walk away without another word.
Ten minutes later, Ray-Ray rushed down the stairs. He was going to be late. As he got to the bottom of he heard a loud bang then froze as the front door was kicked open and four men he’d never seen in his life forced their way into the hallway.
Instinctively, Ray-Ray ran towards the kitchen and towards the back door, hoping to grab hold of one of the kitchen knives in the wooden block on the side. Fear didn’t rush through him, only survival.
He hadn’t reached the door before he felt a hot pain at the back of his head, then the warmth of his blood trickling down his neck as he continued to run for the door. The kitchen knives were over in the far corner. He hesitated, only for a fraction of a second, trying to decide whether to grab one, but it was enough to cost him the chance.
Ray-Ray felt his arm being pulled, causing him to spin round and face his attackers.
‘Motherfucking pig. You stay away from her,’ Mahmood screamed at Ray-Ray, enjoying the rush of adrenaline. He would make him pay for the dishonour he brought on his family and was going to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
Holding onto Ray-Ray, Mahmood could feel he wasn’t as strong as him and if he wasn’t careful he’d soon be overpowered. He quickly looked around for Tariq who was standing back doing nothing, with a look of shock on his face.
‘Tariq, what are you doing? Get hold of him.’
After a moment’s hesitation Tariq grabbed hold of one of Ray-Ray’s flailing arms as his cousin, one of the four of the group his uncle had recruited, held onto the other. Mahmood drew back, clenching his fist before he began to pummel Ray-Ray’s stomach. Over and over again he brought back his hand, until Ray-Ray began to noisily cough up blood, the sound of it drowned out by Mahmood continuing to shout, his eyes wild with rage, ‘You will never see her again. Never.’
Tariq and his cousin let Ray-Ray fall onto the floor. Tariq stepped away towards the door, wanting to go. It’d gone far enough. This isn’t what he’d thought was going to happen. Maybe he’d been naive, but he’d believed his uncle when they’d told him they were only going to shake him up; scare him a little.
He watched as his uncle drove his steel heel sideways into Ray-Ray’s nose, crunching the cartilage down as he groaned in agony, splattering the area with blood.
‘Pour it.’ Mahmood gave the order, passing a small bottle to Tariq. ‘I said, pour it Tariq.’
Tariq froze, staring at the bottle, then looked at his uncle in horror. ‘No, uncle, I can’t. Not this. Stop it, please.’
Mahmood’s face creased into anger. ‘Do not disobey me and bring shame on me boy.’
Tariq felt the bottle being snatched away from his hands by one of the men who’d come in with him. A man Tariq hadn’t seen before. With a smirk he spoke to Tariq. ‘Give it to me. I’m more than happy to do it.’
The agony and the smell of his own burning flesh was the last thing Ray-Ray Thompson remembered.
3
She was perfect. Just perfect. Stroking her head of soft curls streaked with warm browns and honeyed blonde, he smiled warmly at her. ‘It’s not good for you to go without food. Eat something.’ He paused and looked down intently before adding, ‘Please.’
It was no good. She’d no intention of eating the chicken soup he’d spent the past half-hour lovingly making. ‘I suppose you’re on a diet. Maybe I should’ve made you a salad instead. If it helps any, I think you’re lovely just the way you are.’
She stared at him before she turned her head to one side. He wasn’t going to push her. He didn’t want to upset her. She’d eat when she was ready, like she’d talk when she felt able. These things took time; he knew that. Pushing back her curls, he kissed her gently on her forehead.
She coughed, making him look up at her, worried. He couldn’t remember a July as warm as this one but for some reason she was still trembling. It was true the evening’s were cooler, but it worried him the way she was shaking. It certainly wouldn’t do for her to get cold. He turned up the heating before standing up from the small metal-framed bed.
‘Try to get some sleep sweetheart. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.’ Heading for the door, he stopped. ‘Silly me, I almost forgot.’ Turning back, he picked up the rope. ‘It wouldn’t do now if I forgot this, would it?’ With a sweeping movement he grabbed both her arms behind her back, making her cry out from the pain. He bound them expertly, pulling the bonds tighter than necessary to secure her incarceration.
‘One more day my beautiful; that’s all it’ll be. Just one more day.’
Putting her gag back on, he smiled. She was ready.
4
Freddie Thompson stood observing the prison’s pool table. He was the wing’s pool champion and nobody had ever come close or ever dared to beat him. This time however, he wasn’t playing; he was watching.
Rubbing his chin and thinking he needed another shave, Freddie saw one of D-wing’s lifers take one of the worst shots he’d ever seen, sending the white ball careering into the top right-hand pocket. Freddie sneere
d.
‘Hey, are you fucking blind? I bet a ton on you to win. Don’t try to turn me over Craig. You’re taking liberties.’
Forgetting himself for a moment and fed up of being pushed around, Craig snarled at Freddie. ‘Piss off.’
It didn’t need the silence which fell on the prison’s recreational room to tell Craig he’d said the wrong thing. The sick feeling he had in his stomach was real and felt by all the other prisoners as he stood facing Freddie Thompson.
Freddie smiled slowly. He laughed as he spoke to the now-visibly shaking Craig in front of him. ‘I don’t think I heard you right. I thought for a moment there you told me to piss off.’
Before Craig could utter a word, he found himself forced backwards against the pool table with the cue stick being rammed hard on his throat. He wheezed as he tried to catch his breath as Freddie pressed down.
‘What am I going to do with you Craig? What’s that? Can’t quite hear what you’re saying mate.’
As Freddie continued to press down on his throat, gurgling sounds competed with Craig’s gasps as he struggled to gulp mouthfuls of air. The normally pallid Craig started to get some colour as his face and the whites of his eyes turned a crimson red.
Freddie grinned, bemused at the wet patch slowly appearing on the front of Craig’s trousers as he pissed himself with fear.
‘I don’t like rude people and I don’t expect people to be rude to me on my wing. I don’t like your sort; thought what happened to your friend would’ve told you that. Do you know what I do to people like you?’
Craig tried to shake his head, but unable to move, he just closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable.
‘I’ll take that as a no shall I? So let me show you.’
The other prisoners, although hardened by their own life of crime and violence, still winced and turned away at the sound of the cue stick gouging out Craig’s right eye and his screams of fear and pain.
