Kerry Barnes - The Hunted - A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked

‘Muvver!’

‘No, Harry, just shut up, please! A holiday down the coast? I never even knew you had a holiday home. I haven’t been to the coast in over twenty damned years. You only want me to go now because it suits you. Me, invited to have a break? It’s ridiculous.’

Those words, coming from the mouth of this mild-mannered lady stunned Harry. And the look in her eyes told him she was not going to put up with him pushing her around. The speed at which he jumped up from the table caused the chair to topple over. Before she’d a chance to say another word, he left, slamming the door behind him.

The cold stark reality of the present situation made Doris so tearful. Her dear sister’s departure from this life was such a travesty. Doris deeply missed their weekly chats on the phone and the odd weekend trip up to Bath. It shouldn’t be this way; she should have been able to sit and share a pot of tea with her own daughter and chat, but Paris was just like the others – all out for herself. Staring down at the china teacup, she heard nothing but the quiet humming sound of the fridge, her only company. It was a stark contrast to when her kids had lived at home; the constant loud noise had been unbearable. They never spoke – they always shouted.

Just as she stood up to wash up the cup and plate, the back door burst open and in stormed Paris. Usually, Doris would greet her, offering lunch or a drink, but not today. Today, she wanted nothing more than to be alone and pretend she’d never had a family.

‘All right, Muvver?’ she said, as she plonked an oversized bag on the table. ‘I’ve got a few bits that need to be hand-washed. Put the kettle on. I’m fucking parched.’

Doris ignored her and continued with the washing up.

Paris rifled through her Louis Vuitton tote bag looking for her phone, still annoyed that Travis hadn’t returned her calls. In among the make-up, hairbrushes, and hairspray, she finally felt the rhinestone-covered phone case and retrieved it from her bag, only to find the battery had died. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ she cursed and dived in again to find the charger. After plugging it in, she returned to her seat and looked over at her mother. ‘Did ya make the tea?’

Doris untied her pinafore and turned to face her daughter. ‘No, Paris, I didn’t. If you want a cup, then make it yourself.’

Paris’s heavily made-up face produced a frown that even the Botox couldn’t freeze. ‘What the fuck’s up with you?’

‘I’ve had your brother in here demanding I move out for a while, I’ve had your stinking father take my last tenner from my purse yesterday, and now you, expecting your washing done and tea made. Well, you can all go and bugger off. I’m sick of all of you.’

Her caustic words made Paris gasp. She’d never heard her mother speak with such hostility to her, nor wear that look of spiteful anger. It just wasn’t in her nature.

Doris glared with tight lips, feeling her blood boiling. Her once sweet little girl was now nothing but a tart. Everything about her was fake, with her ever-changing bleached hair extensions, her oversized lips, and the thick black eyelash extensions, all of which made her look like a transvestite ready for a Las Vegas show. The skintight dress and fake tan would, Doris thought, be fine for the nightclub, but it was midday. Her look was more suitable for streetwalking around King’s Cross, where she would probably make a fortune selling her arse. In fact, Doris wondered if the figure-hugging dress did Paris any favours, particularly as it was bright green and the lumps and bumps made her look like a caterpillar. Still, what did she know about fashion? On balance, the boys seemed to go for her, and she wasn’t short of a fella. Perhaps it was the prodigious fake tits, mused Doris, that distracted anyone from thinking that she looked like a pig in lipstick.

Paris ignored the outburst and asked, ‘Who wanted you to leave?’

Doris gave a dramatic sigh. ‘Harry did.’

Paris guessed there was trouble. There was no way Harry would want their mother out of the house unless something bad was about to happen. Before she’d a chance to say another word, her phone sprang into action, bleeping with a string of messages. Leaping from her chair, she snatched her mobile, and with hands shaking from a hangover, she scrolled down the long list of messages and swallowed hard. She hastily dialled Harry’s number and waited for him to answer, anxiously tapping her foot.

‘Harry, what the fuck’s going on? Muvver’s got the raving hump, and I’ve had thirty missed calls.’

Harry told her he was on his way back and would pick her up in five minutes to take her to their seaside flat.

Now uneasy, Paris waited quietly in the kitchen. It was the panic in her brother’s voice that troubled her. Her brothers were never nervous: they were always self-assured, as if nothing ever fazed them. She was proud to be their little sister. It gave her a reputation and allowed her into places where drinks would be bought for her. She was spoiled, and she knew it. With a whinge, a whine, and a sulky pout, she would get the latest bag, shoes, or even a car.

Annoyed, she called him back.

‘Harry, why ’ave I got to go to the flat, for fuck’s sake? Travis ’as promised me a long weekend in some foreign country. He reckons it’s a surprise. Harry? Harry?’ She looked at the phone and realized Harry had ended the call.

‘Muvver, what’s going on? I’ve got Harry telling me he’s on his way, but now he’s put the poxy phone down, and you ain’t even gonna make me a brew!’

Doris stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall and sighed; her daughter was such a petulant, rude, and insensitive little cow. She hadn’t even looked up to acknowledge her mother; she merely applied a layer of lip gloss.

‘Paris, you can wait for Harry outside.’

With her lip gloss in one hand and a small round mirror in the other, Paris froze and slowly flicked her eyes to see her mother looking deadly serious.

‘You what?’

‘I said you can wait outside for your brother and also take that washing with you. I’ll not be your skivvy, ever again. And that goes for your brothers as well. Are we clear?’ Each word was precise.

Paris frowned. ‘What’s wrong with you? I mean, ’ave ya started the menopause or something?’

Doris shook her head and walked away, mumbling under her breath, ‘I started it years ago.’

Ignoring her mother, Paris began adding another layer of lip gloss. Suddenly, Harry came flying into the kitchen as if he had a rocket up his arse. ‘Right, where’s Muvver? I need her to come with me. You! Get ya gear. We have to go.’

He watched Paris still fussing over herself. Clearly frustrated, he once again shouted at his mother.

‘Muvver! Come here! You have to leave wiv me, right now.’

Paris suddenly jumped up from her seat. ‘What’s going on, Harry?’

‘Nothing. Just get yaself into gear and wait in the car.’

He looked down the hallway. ‘Muvver, will you hurry up!’

There was silence. Beads of sweat were now running down his nose and he hastily pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and ran it over his wet face. ‘Muvver!’ he screamed again.

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ he growled, as he marched along the hallway.

Doris casually appeared from the living room, looking right through Harry as if he wasn’t even there. She’d been about to go upstairs when that irritating son of hers had started up again.

‘Muvver, what’s wrong with you? Can’t you hear me? I ain’t messing about. You have to come with me.’

Unexpectedly, Doris stopped, turned, and glared, with contempt smeared across her face.

‘Harry, take your precious sister and get out of my house. And, listen well! Before you upset my neighbours with your bellowing, close your big mouth, turn on your heels, and just go. I’m not going with you, so please leave, before …’ She sighed. ‘Oh, never mind. Just get out!’