Читать книгу The Hunted: A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked - Kerry Barnes - Страница 13

On the way to Gatwick Airport, Jackie fumed. Who the fuck did Mike think he was, demanding that she go to Spain? She gritted her teeth and put her foot down, using the horn at the motorist veering in front of her. Why should she do as he said? He had no right. It wasn’t as if he really cared about her. Maybe he wanted to move someone else in for a while? Could it even be his perfect ex?

Jackie went over in her head the number of times he’d looked her up and down with that expression of despair. Or perhaps it was disgust? She knew deep down she would always be compared to that woman who had fucked off and abandoned him. She would always be second best. Well, not anymore. She had her own plan. Fuck you, Mike Regan.

Ignoring the turning to Gatwick, she carried on along the M25. Ricky moaned. He needed the toilet, and in a flash, she told him to shut his mouth, which he promptly did. He didn’t want another slap from her. She pulled down the sun visor and gawped in the mirror at her sore red skin and bruised face. Her anger climbed a pitch. You just wait and see, Mike. I’ll have the last fucking laugh.

‘Sit still, ya little shit!’ she hollered, as she spotted Ricky squirming.

‘Mummy, I need to pee.’

‘Hold it in. You ain’t a baby,’ she snapped at him. Her sudden plan made her jittery. It was now or never, and Mike had just given her the final shove to put her future dream into action.

Ricky tried hard not to pee, but the rush out of the door this morning hadn’t allowed for a trip to the toilet, and now he was frightened. Beads of sweat gathered along his hairline, as he struggled not to wet himself. Then, he couldn’t hold it in any longer, and along with the torrent of wee, came a stream of tears. His mother would slap him. At least he was safe until she stopped the car. She was concentrating on the road ahead and didn’t hear the tinkling sound. A small pool gathered in the hollows of the leather seat, and slowly, not making too much noise, he removed his tracksuit top to mop up the mess. Keeping one eye on his mother, he quickly slid the top under the front seat, praying that his trousers would dry out soon.

As young as he was, little Ricky was no idiot. He had his mother sussed, and he knew that how she treated him wasn’t right. He loved his grandparents and Sacha, and adored his father, but he despised his mother. At six years old, he was fully aware of the spite she held for him. With an observant eye, he realized that they were now not off to Spain because he knew the drill: the parking, the airport customs procedures, the flight, and then the drive to the villa. They were on the motorway, passing signs and areas that he didn’t recognize and heading in the opposite direction from Kent. Then he spotted the sign for the M11; he had no idea what that meant.

* * *

Mike poured Staffie another drink. He could see that the vile act carried out on Staffie’s dog was ripping him in half. ‘Listen, Staff. Do yaself a favour and get the dog outta your ’ead. I know you loved him, but you need to get yaself together, so that we can seek justified retribution.’

Staffie looked up at the huge man and knew he was talking sense. Besides, Mike was the one man he wouldn’t argue with for two reasons: he was the hardest guy he knew, and he also respected him.

‘You will ’ave your chance to avenge ya dog’s death, but we need to round up this little Harman crew before they cause more mayhem. Got it?’

Staffie nodded and gave a smile that bared his uneven teeth, giving him a childish, goofy appearance. Many a fool regarded Staffie as being a bit simple, just because of his expression, and many regretted it. As much as he looked like a bulldog himself, he had a charm that was unmatchable.

‘Good lad,’ said Mike, as he patted Staffie on the shoulder. ‘Right, I want you all to find out as much as you can. I’m gonna pay Izzy Ezra the Jew a visit. That man knows everyone and everything. Besides all that, the bloke needs to know who’s been poking their nose into his little arrangement.’

Eric took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Ya ain’t going alone are ya, Mikey?’

With a cocky wink, Mike replied, ‘Izzy is a ruthless Jew, but, bruv, he has no grief with me. However, Harry Harman, that little grass, will most certainly be in his bad books. Izzy set up our arms racket with the Lanigans. All he asked for was a cut in return, along with no fuck-ups. But now, he’ll see the Harmans as trying to ruin his reputation. That man won’t sit back and take it, not all the while he has a skullcap to pray with.’

Within an hour, Mike was parked up behind the old jeweller’s place just off the Old Kent Road, well away from Izzy’s manor in Tottenham. The shop was just a front; the main business was conducted at the rear of the building. Mike stepped out of his car. He made sure his jacket covered the belt that held his handgun and knocked three times at the back door. He paused and knocked another two times, following the code that Izzy insisted upon.

Slowly, the door opened, and there, taking up the doorframe, was Quasimodo, whose real name was Norman. He acquired his nickname due to his size and an ugly, twisted face that only a blind grandmother could love.

‘All right, Quasi?’

There was no response, apart from a flick of his head to indicate that Mike could go in.

Passing the stacked tatty boxes and a rancid toilet without a door, Mike grinned to himself. He never failed to be amazed that after all the shit and smell from the entrance, there could be such a huge transformation. They went through the secure heavy metal door that led into Izzy’s so-called office. Row upon row of books, housed on highly polished mahogany shelves, surrounded an enormous solid wood antique desk. But the central feature was a Persian rug. Anyone who entered had to remove their shoes before stepping onto it. Mike followed the rule, and with one eye on Izzy, he flicked off his footwear and walked towards the desk. Izzy hadn’t even looked up; he was sitting on a high-backed mahogany chair and staring at a piece of jewellery through an eyepiece. Still ignoring him, he waved his hand for Mike to take a seat.

‘Seventeenth century, this piece. The scag heads around these parts have no idea of the value of what they steal for me.’

He removed the eyepiece from his face and gently placed it on the desk along with the brooch. Clasping his hands together, he leaned back. ‘I was wondering when you were going to visit me. Let me see. It’s been three days, seven hours, and thirty-six minutes since the establishment turned over your lock-up.’ His voice sounded relaxed; Mike knew, though, that it was just the calm before the storm.

‘Yes, Izzy, and it’s been forty-eight hours since I’ve discovered the fucking culprit who grassed me.’

Izzy, a middle-aged man with piercing black eyes and thick white hair, in the classic slicked-back style to match his long beard, slowly nodded. ‘You know, Mike, people swear when they have no other word to use. Anyway, I’m assuming you wanted to establish the facts before you showed up at my door?’

Mike sat as cool as a cucumber, not even blinking, his eyes firmly fixed on Izzy’s face, although he knew only too well that Izzy was more than capable of pulling out a shooter and blowing him through the walls into the greengrocer’s next door.

‘No, Izzy, I came because I wanted to pick your brains, not ’cos I owe you or anyone an explanation. You had a business deal with me. Five grand to pair me up with a buyer for my guns, that’s all the deal was. You got your money, and I got the name of the buyers. That, Izzy, is where our business was concluded.’

Izzy slapped his hands on the desk and stood up. Mike looked him over. He was dressed in a suit, complete with waistcoat and collarless shirt. A gold watch hung from his waistcoat pocket and three heavy gold chains swung from his neck. A distorted smirk showed his gold back teeth as he glared at Mike.

‘You, Mike, are forgetting a very important fact. I have a reputation and that means more to me than money.’

Mike laughed out loud. ‘Never, Izzy. I don’t believe it.’

‘You and everybody else think I’m all about money, but you’re wrong. My family and my honour mean far more. So, listen to me.’ He walked around the desk and lowered himself to sit on the corner as he leaned close to Mike’s face. ‘You give me the names of the grasses, and I’ll make sure they don’t see their next bowl of porridge. The Lanigans want more than ammunition. That’s just small fry. I’m in negotiations for bigger wares, and that, dear boy, is why you need to keep me well and truly in the loop. Now, I want names!’

Mike shook his head. ‘Nah, Izzy. Let me deal with it because it’s just got fucking personal. The little firm that grassed me up also killed Staffie’s dog. I assume that was a warning.’

Izzy rose from the desk and pulled a cigar from his top pocket and lit the end, puffing away with his back to Mike. ‘A dog, you say? And a warning? A warning for what?’

Mike realized it sounded stupid, but, nevertheless, like Izzy’s honour, it meant a lot to him. But it wasn’t so much about the dog – that was bad enough – it was the upset it had caused his friend.

Just as Mike was about to explain, the side door opened and in breezed Zara Ezra, Izzy’s daughter. In her early thirties, this tall, slender woman had a swan-like neck accentuated by a wavy multitoned bob. To Mike, she was the epitome of class and grace with an unforgiving, deadly sting in her tail. Her copper, cat-like eyes slowly blinked when she noticed Mike, yet her face remained inscrutable, with not even a trace of a gentle smile. Totally ignoring Mike, she went over to Izzy, pecked him on the cheek and pulled a wad of banknotes from one of the desk drawers.

Mike noticed how Izzy’s face had lit up when she’d walked into the room.

‘Is it all here?’

‘Yes, my darling.’

‘Good. I’ll be back at teatime. Before you say anything, I have Joshua with me.’

Mike watched her every graceful step as she left the room.

‘Nice-looking woman. Is she—’

He never got the rest of the words out of his mouth. Izzy slammed his hands down on the desk. ‘Yes! My fucking daughter.’

Mike couldn’t restrain himself from a slight smirk. He’d definitely got under Izzy’s skin.

‘I didn’t think you swore. Besides, Izzy, I was only gonna pass a compliment.’

Izzy glared with his beady eyes. ‘Anyway, were we talking about a war over a dog?’

Mike nodded heavily. ‘Yep, over a bleedin’ dog. But you and I both know that it’s a statement. So, Izzy, it seems that a little firm run by three brothers, Harry, Vinnie, and Scottie have taken serious liberties, and although we sent them a clear message via their informant, they saw fit to brutalize Staffie’s dog. And in my world, if not in yours, Izzy, that goes against the grain.’

Shaking his head, Izzy smirked. ‘You lot are nuts. Okay, you do what you need to do, but if these Harmans are not found and dealt with in the next forty-eight hours, I’ll take over, and you, Mike, will be owing me … Harmans, you say?’

Mike watched as Izzy’s fingers, which displayed a variety of rings of all shapes and styles, wiggled as if he were about to play the piano.

‘I didn’t, but you knew it was the Harmans all along, didn’t ya, Izzy?’

Izzy gave a slow, deliberate nod. ‘Yes, I just wondered how long it would take you to work that out, Mike. I’m a shrewd man. I watch and listen. I backed off and allowed you to deal with the situation. But I was testing you to see how long it would take you to be upfront and inform me of the issues. You passed that test.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Now, you have forty-eight hours, or you will be working for me.’

Mike huffed. ‘Well, that ain’t gonna happen – ever!’

Izzy leered. ‘Our deal was that if you messed this little arrangement up, then you would be on my firm under my control. Remember, Mike, you are a man of your word. I hope your sidekicks are preparing to be answerable to me.’

Mike got up to leave. He bit his tongue before he said something he would regret because there was no way he would be working for Izzy the Jew – not while he had a pair of balls.

Izzy grinned to himself as he watched Mike leave. He was fully aware of the clout Mike had. He wanted him on his firm, as head honcho if need be, since Mike was gaining a reputation faster than Durex sales during the Aids scare.

Once outside, Mike clocked the tall figure, leaning with her back arched against a newly built brick wall. She was drawing on a long black cigarette holder. For a second, Mike saw her as a flapper girl from the 1920s. Bonnie and Clyde sprang to mind. He stopped and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his inside pocket and flicked open the lid to his engraved silver lighter. Before he put it back into his pocket, he looked at the etched image of his son. He made a mental note to call and make sure Jackie and Ricky had reached Spain safely.

‘Have you upset Daddy, by any chance, Mikey?’ Her words were cold and oozed confidence. He stepped closer and noticed her milky white skin had just a hint of pink, especially on her bare shoulders.

‘You need sunscreen in this weather, Zara.’

She looked his way, ignoring his comment, and then she turned to blow smoke in his direction, her eyes narrowing in displeasure.

‘How are you?’ he asked, with a smirk across his face.

She pushed herself away from the wall. ‘I’m fine, Mikey. Why shouldn’t I be?’

Removing the cigarette butt from the holder, she threw it to the ground and placed her open-toe shoe over the top, stubbing it out.

She started to walk away, acting as if she had no interest in him, but he knew she rarely smoked and had been waiting for him – maybe just to see if there was still a little spark between them.

‘So, you’re back then?’

She shot him a look of anger. ‘I have been for a while. How’s Julie … Joanne, or whatever her name is?’

‘You mean Jackie? She’s a pain in the arse, a nightmare … but, hey-ho, life’s a bitch, and I certainly married one.’

She searched his eyes for any sign that he still had that sexual hunger for her, knowing she could never read him. ‘Well, you made your bed, Mikey. Your circus, your monkey.’

He sighed and looked her up and down. ‘Yep, Zara, you got that right.’ There was an awkward silence for a few seconds. She assumed he still had feelings, or he would have waved and said goodbye – not stood there, looking her over.

‘Well, Mikey, you bred with her.’

Mike had to bite his tongue. That comment was crass and in fact quite vile. His son was his world, and so the words stuck in his throat.

She clocked his stern expression. ‘Don’t look so offended, Mikey. It’s true. You married her and had a kid, so she must mean something.’ Zara took a step closer with a sneer plastered across her face. ‘Unless, that is, Mikey, she is just an exceptionally good fuck.’

In an instant, he grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her face an inch from his. ‘Nah, Zara. You were that.’ And then he planted his lips on hers. Even though she struggled, he held her there, until he felt her relax and then he let her go.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘You bastard!’

Trying to steady his breathing, he shook his head and walked away. He had to make his head rule his heart – once bitten, twice shy. As much as he felt the surge of excitement and rush of lust, she was still the woman who’d left him. Unable to look back, afraid of his own feelings, he marched on ahead. He shouldn’t have kissed her either, but he wanted to demonstrate his power. Seven years ago, he would never have grabbed her like that – ever.

Zara watched him, her mind all over the place. She was seething, but as soon as he was out of sight, she calmed down and then smiled. There was an upside to this latest encounter: he still wanted her. But would he still, if he knew how much had changed?

* * *

By the time Mike returned home and called a meeting, the lads had done their homework on the Harman family and located the address where each family member lived.

‘How’d it go with Izzy?’ enquired Eric.

Mike raised his brow. ‘As expected, he wants the Harmans dealt with as much as we do.’ Not wanting to concern the lads, he deliberately left out the threat Izzy had made.

‘Was he on his own?’ asked Eric, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

Mike stiffened and turned to face his brother. ‘Do you mean was Zara there?’

Eric shrugged. ‘No, not really. I meant anyone.’

‘Yes, Eric, I saw Zara.’

Dying to know what went on, Eric had to bite his lip; he couldn’t appear too eager.

Unexpectedly, Mike snapped at him. ‘You fucking knew she was back, didn’t ya?’

Eric felt his face flush red. He looked at the others who had now almost frozen to the spot in disbelief.

‘Well yeah, I did hear that a while ago, but what does it matter? You’re with Jackie and have Ricky. She’s …’

The uncomfortable atmosphere spurred Lou to quickly change the subject. ‘Listen up. Harry, Vinnie, and Scottie Harman’s pads have all been checked over. It seems they’ve gone into hiding. The only place not accounted for is their ol’ man’s.’

Mike sensed that the Zara discussion should be kept separate from the business at hand. He shot Eric a disparaging glare before calling for action.

‘Right, then. Eric and Willie, you come with me. Get a tool and put on a first-class bastard attitude because we’re paying the Harman family’s home a visit.’

Eric looked away to ensure that his brother couldn’t see the darkened scowl on his face. He wasn’t capable of keeping a steely fixed expression like Mike could. In fact, if he was honest, he knew they weren’t cut from the same cloth. And being riled up because Mike met up with Zara was taking his focus away from the job in hand.

Staffie jumped up. ‘I wanna come, ’cos I have a fucking monkey wrench with the name Harman carved on it.’

Mike shook his head. ‘No! Sorry, mate, but your temper will be a liability.’ He held up his hands. ‘Trust me, Staffie. You’ll get a chance to leave ya mark, so be patient. You stop ’ere with Lou.’

With red-rimmed eyes and a sulky pout, Staffie slumped back into his armchair and gulped back the last of his drink. ‘Yeah, well, if you weren’t such a lump, Mike Regan, I’d tell you to go and fuck yaself.’

Mike grinned and gently tapped Staffie’s face. ‘Yeah, and if I didn’t love ya so much, I’d clump ya for that comment.’

‘I want my time with them, though, Mikey. Don’t you kill ’em before I leave my mark.’

‘Staffie, I’m a man of my word. You go and find that monkey wrench.’ He winked and nodded for Willie and Eric to follow him.

Within the hour, Mike was in Lee Green, driving slowly along the road to Frank Harman’s place. He looked at the house numbers and then clocked all the cars in the street, knowing that Harry and his two brothers all drove black Mercedes with private number plates. Yet this street had no flash cars parked with two wheels over the kerb.

‘Looks like the Harmans are not at home, boys.’

‘What does their ol’ man drive?’ asked Mike.

Eric looked at Willie and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Dunno. I only got the details of Harry, Vinnie, and Scottie. I didn’t think about the ol’ man.’

Mike sighed. He loved his brother, but there were times when he was really irritated by him. Why his brother could be so lax when he should have his mind on the task ahead was beyond him. He thought that perhaps Eric was distracted by the stupid notion that he could surreptitiously go after Zara.

Eric had once had his eye on her years ago, but it was made clear to him that Zara wasn’t interested. In fact, her exact words were, ‘I find him a bit creepy.’

‘So, Eric, now we won’t know what we’re potentially walking into.’ He didn’t raise his voice; he’d made his point.

The pained look on Eric’s face said it all: once again, he felt inferior.

Easing his car into a space just three doors down, Mike paused and looked up to see if the street had any cameras. Then he craned his neck to address both Eric and Willie who were seated in the back.

‘When we go in, I want quiet. No shouting. These neighbours are too close. I want you to act like the fucking SAS, got it? I want whoever is inside that house shitting hot bricks with a shooter in their face, and then I want them away from here, back to the lock-up.’

Willie lit up a cigarette.

‘Put that fucking thing out. I’ve just had me motor valeted! Jesus!’ yelled Mike.

After looking up and down the road, he stepped out of the car, followed by the others, and confidently marched up to the house. He nodded for Willie to accompany him and whispered to Eric to stay out of sight of the window, but to stand by the front door, in case anyone tried to escape.

Mike and Willie hurried up the side of the house and into the rear garden where they noticed the back door was ajar. In a flash, Mike pulled his gun from his belt and pushed the door open. As he walked into the kitchen, he detected the sweet smell of cakes being baked. Then he strained to listen, putting his finger over his lips, indicating to Willie not to make a sound. Slowly, Mike crept along the hallway and opened the front door, flicking his head for Eric to enter.

Once they were all in the hallway, Eric gripped his gun and poked his head into the living room, only to find the television on and no one there – as if the house had suddenly been vacated. He strained his ears again, listening; he could have heard a pin drop. That was until, suddenly, they heard the toilet flush. He held his gun, pointing it to the staircase, awaiting the appearance of a Harman. There was silence for a few minutes until the toilet flushed again. Motionless, they waited. Again, the toilet flushed. Mike nodded and raised his brow for Eric to go and investigate. Gingerly, Eric climbed the stairs and listened at the bathroom door, the only one that was shut; once again, the toilet flushed and made him jump. He rapped hard on the door and waited.

‘I told you, Harry, I’m not leaving this house,’ came a woman’s voice from the other side of the door. ‘Now, please, leave me alone, and if you want to use the toilet, then do so downstairs and do not invade my privacy.’

Mike took the stairs two at a time and knocked himself. Again, the person called out. ‘Harry, I’m busy. Leave me in peace. I’m not going to repeat myself, so go, and don’t bother to come back.’

Mike looked at Eric and whispered, ‘Let’s go.’

They headed back down the stairs and gathered in the kitchen. ‘Well, I can only conclude that the Harmans have made a practical realization that the best move is to run, ’cos they know the bogeyman and his posse are after them. Wanting to get their mum away tells me they know there’s gonna be bloodshed, and they’ve a good idea of what we’re all about,’ stated Mike.

Now that Eric knew there were no men in the house, he felt brave. ‘Let’s kick that door in and drag her out. It’ll give them something to be shitting themselves about.’ Just as he was about to head towards the hallway, Mike’s hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and fiercely yanked him back.

‘What the fuck!’ shrieked Eric.

Willie looked away. He knew Eric had cocked up again, just by the look of anger in Mike’s eyes.

‘What the hell are you doing? Jesus! Eric, since when do we hurt dear ol’ mums? You are one stupid dickhead.’

Red-faced and boiling, Eric glared at Mike. ‘And since when did they abide by the rules, fucking killing Staffie’s dog, eh?’

‘Keep ya bloody voice down. I don’t want the ol’ girl ’aving a bleedin’ heart attack. Now, we’re gonna wait ’cos she’s expecting her boy back. From what she said, it’s my guess that they’ve upped and gone, but they’ll return for her.’ He pointed his finger up at the ceiling. ‘I mean, think about it. If they believe we’re on the rampage, they ain’t gonna leave her behind, are they?’

Still sulking, Eric replied, ‘Who knows, Mikey? You seem to know probably more than they do. So tell me, then, if they left her behind, why would they come back for her?’ he asked, with a knowing smirk on his face. He wasn’t going to let his brother walk all over him.

‘Well, think about it. If I asked our mum to do something and she refused, I’d get you to go in and ask, wouldn’t I, or the other way around?’

Eric was seething; this was getting so personal now. He knew exactly what Mike was getting at. Their mother, Gloria, would do anything Mike asked of her, but she always questioned him, since he was the son who messed up all the time. ‘Why can’t you think more like your brother?’ she would say. And Arthur, their father, was even worse with his comments. One of his favourite pieces of advice was ‘Take a leaf out of Mikey’s book, and you won’t go wrong there.’

Thinking of his mother, he wondered why she had to be so patronizing towards him. When she rubbed his arm or hugged him, she always gave him that sympathetic expression followed by, ‘Something will come along for you, just you see.’ She used that saying for everything: girlfriends, a good lucky earner, or even a bargain motor. But her advice never worked because Mike seemed to have all the luck.

Willie could feel the tension building and decided to intervene. ‘I’m gonna wait in the living room to see if any of the brothers pull up.’

Mike stared at Eric. ‘You go with him. I’ll wait in the kitchen, in case they come in through the back door.’

Eric was still smarting. ‘Why are you doing that? We’ll see them if they pull up, won’t we?’ His tone was airing on sarcasm.

‘Eric, look at the fucking garden.’ He pointed out of the kitchen window. ‘That rear fence has a gate. They could easily come in from the road the other side, yeah?’

Once again, Eric realized he’d been caught out. Another thing Mike was good at was casing a joint. If he hadn’t been a criminal, he would have made a good detective. Just as Eric walked off in a huff, Mrs Harman appeared, standing there in the hallway. Mike quickly held his hands up, showing he was harmless.

Doris had heard all the commotion downstairs and was about to give the person she thought was Harry a piece of her mind. At that moment, she was drying her hands on her pinny and not taking her eyes off the big man.

‘It’s okay, love. Me name’s Mike. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.’ He edged forward as if he was trying to calm a rabid dog. Yet Doris seemed unperturbed.

‘Excuse me, but my cakes need taking out of the oven.’

Willie appeared. Having been so intent on keeping a lookout, he hadn’t heard her come down the stairs or past the living room.

Although this tall man with a deep scar down his face, twisting an ugly jagged knife in his hand, would probably frighten the life out of most people, his presence left her unruffled.

‘Put that away,’ Mike ordered. Willie instantly shoved it in his belt.

Doris calmly turned back to face Mike. ‘I need to get to the oven.’

Mike was almost taking up the doorframe. ‘Oh, sorry, love,’ he said, as he stepped aside.

Doris waddled past, picked up the oven gloves from the small square table in the middle of the kitchen, and opened the oven door, where she removed two trays of fairy cakes.

Meanwhile, the three men looked at each other in confusion. Their mothers would have been screaming blue murder. Unhurriedly, she placed the trays on the table and closed the oven door.

Rarely did anything faze Mike, but, on this occasion, Mrs Harman had completely wrong-footed him. ‘Shall I put the kettle on, Mrs Harman?’

Eric just shook his head in disbelief.

‘Well, how funny is that. I can only assume that you’ve come to take some sort of revenge on one or more of my sons, but there you are, offering to make tea.’ She made a huffing sound. ‘Not even they do that. Well, yes, I suppose I would like a tea, thank you.’

Mike pulled out a chair for her to take a seat, and then he turned to fill the kettle. Willie leaned against the doorframe. ‘Sorry, missus. I didn’t mean to give you a fright.’

Eric was rolling his eyes. ‘I’m gonna wait in the car.’

Mike nodded.

‘So my sons have upset you, I take it?’

‘I’m afraid they have. But, listen, I won’t take it out on you.’

Mrs Harman reminded him of his own mother. They were roughly the same age, although his own mum was always dressed in the latest fashionable clothes. She wore jewellery and never left the bedroom without a coat of pink lipstick.

This lady, though, couldn’t be more different, with her flat grey hair, a thick waist, swollen ankles, and her old-fashioned twinset-and-pearls look. And the sad, tired expression, no doubt from years of being worn down, certainly accentuated the difference.

The kettle boiled, and Mike spotted the teapot and one china teacup and saucer; the scene reminded him of sitting in his grandmother’s kitchen. ‘Tea should only be drunk from a china teacup, or porcelain if ya can afford it,’ she would say. He remembered her dainty cup with the floral pattern and the chip on the side. He also recalled the day he presented her with a whole tea set that he had nicked from Alders. Her eyes lit up and she hugged him. ‘Aw, little Mikey. Now I can have all me mates over for tea.’ She always called him little Mikey, even when he was six feet tall. He poured the tea just how his grandmother liked it and presented it to Mrs Harman.

‘There ya go, love.’

Doris looked at the colour of the liquid and smiled. ‘Lovely, that. It’s just how I like it.’ She gracefully picked up the drink and sipped it. As she gently placed the cup down, she sighed. ‘So, may I ask what the boys have done now? I’m assuming it’s bad.’ She huffed again. ‘But then, it always is, with my lot.’

‘You’ve no need to be involved. It’s just business. I’m sure they know the rules.’

‘The rules? No, they don’t know the rules, love, I can assure you of that. Um … do you make your own mum a cuppa, then?’

Mike gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Of course I do. Why do you ask?’

Doris’s eyes clouded over. ‘Does she do your washing?’

Mike frowned. ‘Of course not.’ Then it dawned on him; she was comparing him to her own sons. ‘I look after my mum. I take her for dinner every Sunday, if I can, and I wouldn’t have my dear ol’ mum lift a finger.’

‘Yeah, well, see, that’s where my boys don’t know the rules. In fact, if I’m brutally honest, they’re all shits, even my daughter. All out for herself, she is. You’d think I’d have had at least one good egg among ’em, but, no, they all take after their father, and he’s a real horrible bastard.’

Mike pulled out a chair and sat opposite; he sensed she needed to get her annoyance off her chest. ‘Do they give you a hard time, then?’

She took another sip of tea. ‘Hard time? Ha, that’s an understatement. D’ya know, Harry told me to go and stay with me sister up in Bath. Obviously, he was expecting trouble. I wanted to hit him with the saucepan. My dear sister has been dead for six months. My only ally, my Tilda, and that fat git didn’t even remember she’d passed away. They’re selfish, my lot. They come in this very kitchen with their bags of washing, their tans glowing from their holidays abroad, and then they slap down their shitty clothes for me to scrub. And as for Scottie, I know he has money, and yet he still goes through my purse and nicks me pension. That ain’t right, is it? You wouldn’t do that, would you?’

Mike had a sudden thought.

‘Don’t they offer to take you on holiday? I always make sure my mum has a good two-week break away somewhere nice.’

‘Ha, my kids have never even offered to take me for a Sunday lunch somewhere nice, let alone a bleedin’ holiday. I ain’t been away since I went to Bath with me sister, what, four years ago now.’

‘That’s not fair, is it?’ He softened his gruff voice.

‘Life ain’t fair, love. I should know,’ she replied, taking another sip of her tea. She looked up at him. ‘D’ya treat ya mum on her birthday an’ all?’

Mike smiled. ‘Yeah, I do, every year. I drive my mum to a place called Rye. It’s beautiful, with cobbled streets and views as far as the eye can see. She loves the little tea shops, the antique shops, and the fish and chip shop. She stays in my seventeenth-century cottage and just enjoys soaking up the atmosphere.’

Doris was staring off into space. ‘Ahh, it does sound wonderful. She must be so proud of you.’

‘Well, I tell ya what. Why don’t you go and pack a little suitcase and I’ll treat you to a nice stay in the very same cottage? Call it a birthday treat, seeing that your own boys haven’t seen fit to spoil ya.’

She blinked and came out of her daydream. ‘What? Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. Besides, I don’t even know you, and, well, I was just having a moan, really. ’Ark at me, chatting away, and you being all nice, an’ all. Suppose you’re really ’ere to bash me boys? Anyway, what have they done now?’

Mike sighed. He wanted to get the dear old lady away from the potential scene of a bloodbath. ‘Yes, Mrs Harman, I’ll probably give ’em a clump, but, really, I just want a word. They did something unforgivable, I’m afraid. In fact, it was very cruel.’

Doris nodded, genially. ‘Sounds like them.’ She stared at Mike and frowned, as her head slowly tilted to the side. ‘Are you by any chance related to Arthur Regan?’

Mike sat up straight. ‘Why?’

Her eyes seemed to drift off again. Maybe it was her escape to another time or another place. ‘You just remind me so much of him, that’s all. Now, he really was a gentleman, but he was a rogue, all the same.’

‘Knew him well, did you?’

Unexpectedly, the tears in Doris’s eyes welled up. ‘Yes, I did. He was the love of my life, he was, before Frank came on the scene. Oh, ’ark at me. Never mind. It’s all in the past.’

His mind now all over the place, Mike felt his heart beating fast. Could this woman, the mother of his archenemy, have once had a thing with his father? He was dying to know.

‘Was this Arthur married then?’

She smiled and blinked away the tears. ‘Oh no. We were very young. Never mind. Anyway, enough of all this. I don’t think any of my sons will come back. They’re too concerned with saving their own arses. I know you’re probably wondering why I’m not running around frantic, like, or trying to escape to call them, but, the truth is, I really don’t care. I really and truly don’t care what happens to them. They were never my children. They were Frank’s – well, theoretically. I think I was just an oven to cook his evil seeds. There, I’ve said it, now. Look, I’m off to the church. You can stay and wait, but I bet they won’t show their faces.’

Mike grabbed her hand. ‘Listen, Mrs Harman. Please. You deserve better. You’ll love Rye.’ He winked and tapped her hand. ‘Go on, pack a bag, and let me spoil you.’

‘Oh, I dunno.’

She was tugging at his heartstrings, and Mike wanted her away from the potentially violent situation more than ever. ‘The truth is, Mrs Harman, yes, I am related to Arthur. I’m his son.’

Her eyes widened, as she stared. ‘I just knew it. You’re the spit out of his mouth. Oh my God. It’s like looking at him years ago.’ She pulled off the tea towel that covered the cakes and wiped away her tears. ‘He was a cheeky bugger in his younger years, but he had such a kind heart. I can see you are so like him.’

After blowing her nose, she rose from the table. ‘Well, what have I got to lose? Give me a minute, and I’ll take you up on that offer.’

She looked around at the plain boring kitchen that she’d scrubbed clean every day just for something to do. With a sudden spring in her step, she hurried up the stairs and busied herself, throwing all of her best clothes into a small 1950s suitcase.

Willie chuckled. ‘What the fuck was all that about, Mike?’

Mike took one of the cakes and bit into it. It tasted very bitter. Popping open the bin, he spat the mouthful into it.

‘Willie, we’re gonna wreak carnage on the Harmans, and I want her away from ’ere. The poor cow. But I have another plan up my sleeve. I’ll tell ya later.’

He helped himself to a glass of water, swirling it around his mouth before spitting it down the sink. ‘Jesus, she might be a sweet ol’ girl, but she can’t fucking bake.’

He covered the remains of the cakes with the tea towel and waited for Mrs Harman to return. Entering the kitchen with her face flushed and her suitcase in her hand, she reminded him of Mary Poppins. It was her overcoat, hat, and brolly. His heart went out to her.

‘Right, let’s get you that nice holiday break.’ He held open the back door and followed her along the side of the house. ‘Now, you wait here, while I fetch the car.’

Doris looked up and down the road, eager to get away from the drab street. All the years she had lived there and not one neighbour had ever nodded or said ‘Hello’. They always ducked their heads down, afraid of her mouthy kids.

What a life she’d led, what with Frank and his philandering and aggressive ways, and then her demanding sons and her selfish daughter. She sighed. How she would have loved a son like Arthur’s boy. She could have had that life too, if it hadn’t been for Frank worming his way into her affections and then almost raping her. Whilst some memories are best forgotten, she knew that that one never would be, even though it was such a long time ago now.