by Nigel May
As could Riley. He’d stared down the barrel of a gun on countless occasions, but never for such a personal reason. Stubble-faced hoodlums and gap-toothed crooks he could handle but a protective mother wanting more for her baby was another matter altogether. A much looser cannon. He knew he would have to act quickly.
In Genevieve’s mind, all she wanted was an end to her trauma. Either Riley was going to pay or he wasn’t. She needed to show him how serious she was, one way or another.
‘You don’t want to do that. Honestly, Genevieve, you don’t. What good would firing that at me do? Kill me for not supporting you? Oh, that’d be a difficult one to explain to our daughter in a few years’ time wouldn’t it? Why don’t I have a daddy, Mummy? Because Mummy murdered him, darling. Yeah, I can’t see you winning any prizes for best mother that year, can you?’
Riley’s tone, albeit derisory, had the desired effect. He could sense what he’d said circling around Genevieve's brain, the potential consequences of her actions taking shape within her mind. Tears streamed down her face. For such a strong woman, Genevieve suddenly looked pitifully weak. But Riley was more than aware that it was at a rock bottom moment of fragility that a person could snap.
‘I’ll always be more of a mother to her than you could be a father. You don’t even want to know her. It’s like you’re ashamed of her, of us ... of me.’ Genevieve’s finger quivered alongside the gun’s trigger as she spoke. She was finding it hard to see it clearly through her tears. ‘Do the right thing, Riley ... for her. Give the girl a father. Every girl deserves that.’
She let out a desperate sob, her mind transporting her back to her own childhood, growing up without a father. Watching as her own dad walked out on both her and her mum to live a life with another woman. She’d never forgiven him for that. She’d erased him out of her life. Maybe she’d have to do the same to Riley. If he didn’t care about her and Emily then he wasn’t worthy of being a father in the first place.
Her finger started to squeeze on the trigger, stroking its curve. Her ever-increasing trembling made it difficult to take a firm hold but Genevieve knew that she could do this. Riley was becoming more and more blurred, barely more than a shape through the curtain of tears coating her eyes. Emily would never need to know that her dad was a waste of time who didn’t want to know her. A criminal who dispensed of people as if they were spent matches.
‘This is for her, Riley ...’ Genevieve squeezed the trigger.
Riley knew that this was his one moment to react. And it needed to be lightning-quick. He could see how distressed Genevieve was. Her anger and the alcohol made for a lethal concoction. He threw himself to the floor as Genevieve fired the gun. The bullet missed Riley and embedded itself in the office wall behind him. Before Genevieve even had time to consider firing a second bullet, Riley threw himself towards her, grabbing her in his arms and twisting hers in an attempt to make her drop the gun. It fell to the floor.
For a man of his size it was easy to overpower her. She crumpled under his force, her legs buckling as she too fell to the floor. She hit the side of her head on the office desk as she fell. A stab of pain, mercifully numbed by the drink, shot through Genevieve’s mind. Unable to take any more and not really sure about what had happened, she lost control. Her tears, copious and flowing, raced down her cheeks.
Riley felt a need to comfort her, somewhat alien considering what she’d just tried to do to him. He put his arms around her, making sure that the gun was well out of her reach. Her sobs magnified as she let her body fold into his. Despite her situation, she knew deep down that his death would not be the right answer.
‘Why am I doing this?’ she said, her voice a pitiful whisper.
‘Because you care about your child, as any mum would do,’ answered Riley. For a moment his mind cast back to his own mother, Bianca, when she was alive. How she would have done anything to protect her child. The thought softened any feelings of anger he housed towards Genevieve.
‘So why don’t you? Why don’t you care about our child? About Emily?’
‘Because it shouldn’t have happened,’ said Riley. Blunt words, but said with regret and some compassion. ‘I don’t want to ruin what I have with Amy. I know that’s not what you want to hear but it’s the truth.’
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Genevieve may have disliked Amy’s existence but at that moment the person she disliked most was herself. For letting herself get into this position, for letting Riley do it to her.
‘Can’t we just push all of this to one side and start again?’ said Riley. ‘This never happened. You won’t go to court about Emily. Amy will never find out. And I’ll never tell anyone that you just tried to kill me. You’re better than all this.’
Riley placed his hand underneath Genevieve’s chin and raised it up towards his face. He could smell the whisky on her breath as he leant down to kiss her. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue against her lips. Genevieve didn’t respond. Something inside her told her not to.
She pushed Riley away. ‘You’re right, I am better than this. I’m better than you. Kissing you and letting you make love to me again would be the easiest thing in the world, but I can’t. How can I love a man I can’t respect?’
Riley loosened his grip on her as she staggered to her feet. He made sure that the gun was still way beyond her reach. ‘You pay me what I need, Riley Hart, or it won’t just be your wife who hears about Emily. It will be the world.’
As she stumbled from the office, Genevieve could feel a strip of self-respect running back through her, despite having nearly put her own daughter in a position where her mother would be locked up for murder. She had told Riley what she wanted and shown she was serious. She wasn’t sure what was to come next, but whatever it was she would make sure it was to Emily’s advantage.
Riley would not get away with neglecting his child.
* * *
As Genevieve placed the keys in her pocket and stumbled to the back of the shop again, this time to try and tidy up before heading home, she placed her fingers to her face and traced along the tiny scar that still remained from where she’d hit her head on the desk. It was almost a perfect match for the one on her cheek she’d gained in the shootings at The Kitty Kat.
She’d never imagined what had happened next. Who could?
43
Then, 2014
* * *
‘Well, if this doesn’t take away the stresses and strains of running one of the most talked about clubs in the UK then I don’t know what will,’ said Laura as another cool stone was applied to her body in order to rub in the most delicious flow of Manuka honey.
‘And the aloe gel and aloe-based wrap comes next,’ purred Amy as she lay face down alongside her best friend in one of the seventeenth century treatment rooms at the Monestero Santa Rosa spa on a clifftop in Italy’s Amalfi Coast. ‘This is sheer bliss. I feel like my body has just melted into one big pool of honey. I didn’t realise how stressed I was about getting the club off the ground.’
‘You deserve this,’ sighed Laura, shutting her eyes as another viscous pouring of honey was drizzled onto her skin by one of the spa staff. ‘That opening night was wild and every night you have organised since has been a huge success. And fair play to Lily because she has been fending off the Z-listers outside the club who want to come and sit their sorry little asses in our VIP areas like nobody’s business. Who the hell wants some skank from a TV show about girls getting pissed, shagged and wetting themselves rubbing shoulders with a bona fide Hollywood superstar.’
‘Yeah, because you’ve never gone out on the piss, pulled some minger and then wet yourself in the cab on the way home, have you?’ deadpanned Amy.
Laura chose to ignore her. ‘They shouldn’t turn up unless they’re on the guest list. Anyhow, why didn’t Lily get invited along to this girlie weekend of ours then? She does more at that club than I do, to be honest.’
‘I did suggest it to Riley, but he was adamant that it was to
be just you and me. And to be honest, I agree. Lily works for me and Riley, you happen to be my best friend. And always will be. You deserve the success of The Kitty Kat just as much as I do. You’ve lived this dream with me, ever since we first met at Decoupage. Riley and I could not have opened The Kitty Kat without you. You’ve always been there for me, no matter what, and seen me through some major upsets.’
‘That’s what friends are for.’ Laura reached out and grabbed Amy’s hand, giving it a squeeze of support. ‘Now, I was thinking about some more theme nights at the club seeing as the eighties and gay ones have become pretty legendary. How about a ‘Single Ladies’ night? Or a fetish night? You know, all Beyoncé-fied Sasha Fierceness at the first one and all Gaga extreme outfits on the second. Hashtag strong, hashtag unique!’
Amy wasn’t sure that either was such a good idea and was about to say so when one of the spa staff interrupted. ‘Okay, ladies, it is time for your wrap. If you would both like to turn over onto your backs we can wrap you both.’ The masseur’s accent was as rich as Italian chocolate.
‘With an accent like that, you can turn me anyway you like,’ grinned Laura. ‘It’s hot. You’ll be making me very hot under the collar. Not that I’m wearing one of course.’ Laura shifted her body, somewhat coquettishly towards the man.
The masseur smiled, but with no hint of flirtation. It was obviously something he had heard and experienced a million times before. He was a total professional. Besides, he knew that both Laura and Amy would be cooling off any overheating after the treatment by visiting the spa’s famed ice fountain.
When his back was turned preparing the wrap, Laura turned to Amy and mouthed the words, ‘How can he resist this? He must be gay’. She jiggled her boobs to emphasise her point. Amy was still giggling as the first layer of wrap was applied to her body.
* * *
The ice fountain had indeed cooled the girls down and had revitalised and refreshed them after the intense relaxation of the wrap. It was great to be away from Manchester and just chill for a few days. Later that evening, as they wandered around the rosemary and lemon scented tiered gardens housed within the spa’s building, a former monastery, both women were in a reflective and relaxed mood.
‘I’m not used to seeing you this chilled out, Laura. No bottle of Prosecco, no man chasing, no reaching for your latest Viva Glam MAC lipstick, no Twitter, no Facebook, no mobile glued to your face. It’s nice to see.’ Laura had always been much more a social media, tap-the-app kind of girl than Amy, but it was lovely to see her friend not Instagramming or the like.
‘I know, get me! But it’s this place, it’s just so beautiful, isn’t it? Staring out across the azure of that sea you can’t help but feel that it’s nice to just totally relax and forget about any stresses back in the UK. Not that I really have any to be honest, well, maybe one or two that I should deal with.’ There was a definite sense of contemplation behind Laura’s gaze and a softening of her voice. Amy was used to her friend hurtling through life at the speed of a car chase from The Fast And The Furious so the difference in her demeanour was clear to see.
‘I’m so lucky to have you in my life, Laura. I’ve always said that. You and Riley were the only people who helped me cope when Mum and Dad died. You are my strength.’
‘Well, the feeling is mutual, sister. One hundred per cent. And as for men, well they ruin everything sometimes, don’t they? Why do we let them, eh?’
Amy reached out to take her friend’s hand again. Something was obviously irking Laura, she never slated men. Maybe Amy would try to delve a little deeper into what was making her think that way. When the time was right. The serenity of their surrounding did not lend itself to further investigation.
‘It was the sisters here who first made the concoctions for the treatments,’ said Laura. ‘I read that on this place’s website before we came.’
‘Oh I read that too,’ agreed Amy. ‘And the fact they used to bake delicious filled pastries too called sfogliatelle. Very “Patisserie Week” on Bake Off. They were shell-shaped and apparently quite delicious.’
‘So was that masseur today,’ said Laura. ‘Delicious, I mean. Do you think he does private sessions?’
Amy couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows and smile. So much for the calm. The moment for serious talk had just left the building.
44
Now, 2015
* * *
Despite everything, Tommy Hearn loved his wife. He may have had a funny way of showing it throughout their married life together but underneath it all he loved her. Jemima was the wife he needed as she let him do exactly what he wanted.
Sure she wasn’t as glamorous as Bianca Hart, Riley’s mother, had been. She had had that retro sixties glamour when it was all beehive hairdos and mini-skirts, but Jemima was a pretty woman. He’d been bewitched by her when they’d first met. Her prettiness was striking, but she was meeker than any young woman he’d ever met. That was one of the things that drew him to her. Tommy was a wide boy, someone who wanted to rule the streets in the same way Cazwell Hart did and the thought of having a girlfriend who was pretty enough to be admired but quiet enough to let him puff his chest out and play hard man was just what he wanted. She didn’t even have to be the sexiest of women in the bedroom department as he could obtain that wherever he liked. If Tommy had learnt one thing at an early age it was that his rugged good looks could definitely bring women to their knees. Literally. Jemima was good in the bedroom though, he’d give her that. There had been a time when their sex life was electric. But things had changed, life had moved on and the pair of them had become a sexless yet understanding couple.
How it had happened was something Tommy was ruminating on as Jemima served him a glass of whiskey in the front room of their five bedroom house in Wilmslow, Cheshire. If you had money in Manchester, it was where many of the rich and famous chose to live.
He watched her as she served him the tumbler of liquid. She barely looked him in the eyes as she did so. Her hair was grey and scraped back as per normal. Why didn’t she dye it? Style it? Frame her face in a better way? Occasionally she did, normally on the insistence of Caitlyn Rich, one of the few women in their world who paid any attention to Jemima. Caitlyn was hard to say no to. Tommy wouldn’t want a wife like that.
Jemima had made an effort for a while. When was it? About up until the time of the shootings at The Kitty Kat? Yes, probably about then, thought Tommy. But lately she’d made no effort at all. But there was still a prettiness there, hidden away, Tommy could see that. Just that lately it was buried deeper and deeper behind a façade of misery and harshness.
Tommy watched his wife sit down opposite him and open a book to read. It was a trashy love story no doubt, a tale of some lonely female tourist being whisked off to paradise by a dashing Sheikh or a muscle-bound prince. His wife definitely had a style when it came to her choice of escapist read and it was always the more romantic the better.
Was he to blame for her being the way she was? Had he made her the woman he saw before him? Deep down he thought that maybe he had. But he’d always been honest with her, always provided for her, always stayed by her side when yes, there were more exciting, sexual, fire cracking females out there. But that wasn’t what Tommy wanted, at least not in a wife. He wanted someone he could rely on. Someone who would live his life alongside him. Someone who would see him as number one.
Yes, Tommy Hearn could see that his wife had changed over the years, he could see that he had probably created the bitter and sad woman he was staring at right now, and he could see that she had let herself go. He could also see that she was easy to love, because she let him be exactly what he wanted, a man who answered to no-one. She always had done, and that pleased him greatly. Tommy Hearn had always walked with a swagger and he was changing for nobody. He just couldn’t see how arrogant that made him.
45
Now, 2015
* * *
Caitlyn Rich adored New York. She always did on her numerous
visits to the Big Apple – the bright, dazzling, enticing lights of Times Square, the lightly-cooked, beautifully fresh seafood at Midtown’s Le Bernardin, the erotic luxury of shopping for lingerie at Kiki De Montparnasse. Every sidewalk turn and every countless corner housed a delight that only New York could offer.
But her now regular trips there with her cosmetic surgeon lover, Jona Fleet, were proving to be the best moments she had ever experienced in the city. Waking up alongside a man who truly cared for her was a joyous intimacy, especially one who could fix both her looks if need be and also fix the aching she now often experienced for a nerve stimulating bout of love-making. And Jona’s nine inches never disappointed. Which was something she hadn’t been able to say about her husband, Adam, for the longest time.
It was becoming apparent to Caitlyn that she was seeing less and less of her thuggish husband and that neither he nor she seemed to care about it. It was a fact that was brutally obvious as Adam walked into the entrance hall of their Manchester home to find Caitlyn directing two poor workmen in no uncertain terms where to place her newly finished mirror-mosaic swan.
‘Oh, you’re back then? How was your sister?’ barked Adam as he elbowed his way through the front door of their home, a cloud of cigar smoke accompanying him. It was clear form his frown that he was not in the best of moods.
