Kerry Barnes - The Rules

The blacked-out window slowly opened and there with mirrored sunglasses and a dazzling smile was her father. ‘Quick, Kenny!’

She had no sooner sat on the cool leather seat than he pulled away. ‘Ease up, Dad, will you? I haven’t even shut the bleeding door!’

‘Shut ya whining and buckle up. I can’t get pulled over by the Ol’ Bill.’

Kendall threw her rucksack behind her and put her seatbelt on.

‘Right, I just need to pop in the pub. It’s not far from here. I’ll only be two minutes, and then we can have a chat.’

Kendall felt her heart sink. Typical. Why could he never drop everything just once for her ? She wondered who was best at being indifferent to her. Was it her mother or her father? She noticed him look her way and shake his head in disapproval. She wasn’t sure if that look of disdain was because of what she looked like or whether he was into telepathy. He had an uncanny ability of getting inside her mind.

‘What?’ she snapped as she sensed her father’s dismay.

‘How old are you now? What? Twenty-one?’ The smoky edge to his voice, implying he was annoyed, left an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hated the tension when he was moody. And he had a knack of being unpredictable with his temperament.

‘Twenty, but shouldn’t you know that? I thought you were there at the birth?’

‘Oi, don’t get fucking lippy!’ he growled. ‘What’s with the fucking rebel T-shirt and studs in ya ears? Are you some kinda biker, or are you still acting like a kid? What’s that fucking Meat Loaf bollocks spread across ya chest?’

Kendall laughed. ‘Aw, this? This little number? I only wear it just to get right up Mother’s nose.’

She sensed his mood lift.

‘Still got her big bugle stuck in the air or up her arse, has she?’

‘She slapped me one today.’ Her voice was a mere whisper.

‘No doubt you deserved it, Kendall. Anyway, what was it for?’

‘I told her Alastair was a creep!’

With a sudden raucous laugh, her father started to cough, tears now filling his eyes, as he tried to clear his throat. ‘Fuck me. I would’ve loved to ’ave been a fly on the wall. I can just see her snooty face, like a bulldog chewing a wasp, eh?’

‘Well, yeah, something like that. She wasn’t a happy bunny, that’s for sure.’

Ten minutes into their drive, they turned into a residential side street and arrived outside a small pub that nestled in between a row of two-up two-down houses.

‘Wait here!’ he demanded, as he leaped from the car that was still ticking over and carelessly parked in the middle of the road.

The street was narrow. Kendall looked behind her, hoping that no other vehicle wanted to pass, as there was no room. Left alone, she idly popped open the glove compartment and pulled out three CDs and looked at the covers: Madness, The Specials, and Bad Manners. She smiled to herself. The titles spoke volumes about her dad’s taste in music and perhaps his warped sense of humour. As she opened the Madness case to play one of the titles, she found to her shock and horror that there was no disc at all; instead, she was looking at transparent bags of white powder. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Quickly, she opened the Bad Manners case; again, she found a similar quantity of what she could only guess were drugs. Her eyes shot back to the pub door. She shoved the CD cases back into the glove compartment and slammed the lid shut; yet it sprung open. It took three attempts before it would shut properly, and by this time, her heart was almost beating outside her chest. Christ, my dad’s a dealer , she said to herself.

Her inquisitive nature pushed her to look down in the footwell of the driver’s side, and there, just like in the gangster films, she saw a metal cosh. The centre console was another temptation, and her hands trembled; if she opened the lid, would she find a gun too? Just as she was about to go for it, she was distracted by the pub door opening. And there, taking up the doorframe, stood her father. Suddenly, she was seeing him in a different light. As if she was a gangster herself, she, like her father, scanned the surroundings. Was anyone watching?

He hurried over, opened the door, and threw a white cotton bag onto the back seat and pulled away. Kendall, still in gangster style, looked behind her at the building from which her father had just left. There, standing half in and half out of the doorway, scribbling something on a piece of paper, was a man almost the same size as her father.

‘Dad, a bloke back there is taking down your number plate, I think.’

Without a word, he looked in the rear-view mirror and came to a halt. Ramming the gear into reverse, he put his foot down and tore all the way back. He didn’t even close the door behind him after he’d jumped out, and before she knew it, he had pushed his way through some customers entering the pub. Within no time at all, he was dragging the man out and onto the pavement.

Kendall watched in horror as her father had the man in a headlock, clearly intending to smash the granny out of him. A mist of blood sprayed the wall. Her father didn’t stop, even after the man was out cold on the pavement; he continued to kick him deliberately and methodically. It sent Kendall’s blood cold, just watching her dad acting so mercilessly in full view of any residents who might be watching what was going on.

Kendall shook from head to toe; never in her life had she seen such a violent fight. No. Wrong. It wasn’t a fight. The guy had stood no chance whatsoever. Unsure whether to get out and run or just stay put, her indecision was halted when two other men came hurtling along the road, both of them wielding metal tools. Her father didn’t see them behind him. Kendall knew she would have to act quickly or watch her father being beaten to death. Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, she opened the centre console compartment, thinking that maybe there was a gun. What she would have done with it though was another matter. Her eyes tried to focus on a metal canister. She snatched it, popped the lid, and jumped from the car, hoping that the pepper spray was as effective as it was claimed to be.

One of the men who was tooled up managed to whack her father on the back, but just as the other one went to follow suit, she appeared like a whippet on speed and used all her strength to push down on the nozzle of the can and spray it directly into the two guys’ faces. Her father, who had been knocked to the side by the heavy blow, turned to see his daughter. In her Goth outfit and brandishing his can of pepper spray, she looked wild and fearsome as she went for his attackers in a rage. Suddenly, with their hands over their eyes, they backed off, coughing and spluttering. Doubled over, they gasped for breath as saliva ran from their mouths and snot poured from their nostrils.

He pulled her arm down and removed the can. She stumbled back in total shock and looked at the devastation. The two men were almost choking to death, and the man on the ground was bloodied and lifeless. Her father dragged her away. ‘Get in the car!’

Numbed by the event, she hurriedly did as he told her. He wasted no time in pulling away. Once again, Kendall looked behind her and this time there were a few customers peering out from inside the pub. She guessed they had stayed there while the fight ensued; it was none of their business. She knew then her father was a very dangerous man. Controlling her breathing, she wanted to appear unfazed; really, though, the experience had left her traumatized. She could have laughed out loud with hysteria, but, again, her veil of silence was her best form of protection. Like her, her father said nothing; instead, he drove like a bat out of hell until, finally, they were on a main road, heading for God knows where.