to stop crying and stand up for herself; no one must ever bully her, and, more to the point, get away with it. There was no such thing as having a friend; everyone has their own agenda in life. The only people in the world you could depend on were family. ‘Tears are for weaklings,’ Harry told her. In response, she wiped her cheeks with a tissue.
The very next day, outside the school grounds, backed by her brothers, Paris stood ready for the fight of her life. Her fingers loaded with cheap rings, she launched an attack the minute Amberley appeared. With no sense of control, Paris punched the girl relentlessly, gruesomely tearing shreds from the girl’s face. Harry and Vinnie watched with pride as their little sister showed her worth, rucking as violently as any lad. The fight was eventually broken up by the head teacher, who was given a fierce verbal attack by Harry. All the way home they patted her back, showering her with praise.
Harry remembered his father’s words when they arrived home: ‘Now then, you start showing people who’s the fucking boss. That little larruping will give a warning to all those silly little girls that no one messes with a Harman.’
* * *
In the rear-view mirror Harry witnessed the same expression as the day she’d sniffed back those tears and fallen into a world of callousness. Since then, she hadn’t changed; she still had that sneering look to this day. Nothing ever fazed her. It was as if he and their father had ripped out her soul and left a void. Still, he loved his sister; she was loyal to them, regardless.
‘So, tell me, Harry, what’s going on? You look like you’re shitting a brick.’
‘Travis was tortured, the poor bastard …’ He swallowed hard as he recalled the images of Travis on that chair with his eye scooped out and with his flesh ripped from his cheek; he could only guess it had been done with a claw hammer. ‘I need to get you away, princess, because the bastards that killed Travis will be coming for us.’
Paris gasped, ‘Oh my God, Harry. It’s the Regans!’ Her mouth remained open, digesting his silent acknowledgement. ‘Are you fucking nuts? Seriously? Why would you get involved? This ain’t our vendetta.’ She paused, waiting for an answer, but then she noticed in the mirror her brother’s shifty eyes and knew that he hadn’t done it for the family honour.
It was always about the money with her family. Planning and scheming to ruin the Regan family was a continual source of conversation, from father to sons, like some hereditary disease.
His silence irritated her. ‘I just hope it was worth it, Harry, because the Regans are legendary. And you may have kept me out of the business, but I ain’t blind or deaf. And our flaming uncle and our ol’ man should have cut their losses years ago.’ She huffed. ‘What I don’t get is, if they have killed Travis, why are they coming for us, now they’ve had their pound of flesh?’
With a sharp intake of breath, Harry shook his head. ‘All right! Paris, leave it, will you? Just let me think!’
The realization hit Paris like a horse’s hoof in the teeth. ‘Leave it, Harry? How can I? I’m now mixed up in it. I just don’t get why they’re after us now though, if they’ve already killed Travis …’ Her jaw tightened. ‘Harry, what else have you done?’
With her words ringing in his ears, he snapped. ‘For fuck’s sake, Paris, Vinnie has murdered Ted Stafford’s dog and thrown its butchered body back in the garden. Now shut up and let me think.’
‘Why would he do that?’ she softened her voice.
‘Because, Paris, he has shit for brains, he’s taken too many drugs, and he thought that stupid stunt would have our ol’ man singing his praises.’
They drove in silence for twenty minutes, both contemplating the reality of the situation.
For a moment, Paris felt sorry for her brother. They were close, and she looked up to him; yet, as much as she acted the needy little sister, she wasn’t as oblivious to what her family’s firm did as she made out. The years of brainwashing and inciting hatred towards the Regans hadn’t worked on her, but, obviously, it had done the trick on Harry. Time would tell if the family would have their backs, now the shit had hit the fan. Or would they be hung out to dry?
Harry flicked his narrow eyes back to the mirror. ‘I’m sorry, Paris, but I promise you this much. I will get it sorted out. But, for the moment, we need to get down to the coast. I’ve left a message for Farver to fetch Muvver and bring her down an’ all. I dunno what’s got into the dopey cow, walking around like a fart in a trance. Was it me or did you notice her behaving strangely?’
‘Yeah, she told me to take me washing and practically told me to fuck off. Menopause, I suspect. So what’s gonna ’appen now? I can’t stay in that poxy flat. I’ll get cabin fever.’
Harry didn’t answer, his mind now back on the photos of Travis. He took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves.
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
