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
