The Hunted: A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked. Kerry Barnes
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!’
Harry was looking at a stranger: this wasn’t his mother. There was nothing he could do except physically throw her over his shoulder, and he wasn’t about to do that.
Doris was about to shout, ‘And don’t slam the door’, but it was too late. The back door banged shut, and she was left with a ringing sound in her ears and a tightening in her chest.
Harry almost pushed Paris with all her bags into his Mercedes. ‘Hurry up, Paris. We need to get out of ’ere.’
With her brother panicking the way he was, and almost manhandling her, Paris sensed this situation was more serious than she’d previously thought. Usually, she would have been gobbing off, but, for the first time in her life, she remained quiet and allowed Harry to get himself settled and on the road before she opened her mouth. He didn’t pull away gently either; he left rubber on the tarmac. Never would Harry drive like that, not in his precious top-of-the-range car.
‘Harry, what’s happened?’ She kept her voice low-key.
‘Well, princess, I hate to tell ya, babe, but your fella won’t be taking you away for the weekend. He’s dead.’
After being forcibly pushed into the back, Paris was leaning forward, gripping the corners of the two front seats. ‘What?’
Her voice was so loud, it seemed to vibrate in his ear.
‘Sit back and get ya seatbelt on.’
In a sudden daze, Paris sat back and fastened the belt. ‘What happened? Who the hell killed him?’
‘Did I say anyone killed him?’ He knew that question was unfair. This mess wasn’t his little sister’s fault.
‘Well, bruv, we wouldn’t be flying up fucking Wrotham Hill like Lewis Hamilton if he died of natural causes, would we?’
He looked in the rear-view mirror. ‘Sis, you don’t seem upset. I thought you liked Travis?’
She squirmed in her seat. ‘Well, yeah, ’course I did, but I weren’t gonna marry him or have his babies. He was all right, sweet, really … anyway, what’s ’appened?’
‘He was working for me, an inside job, but the silly bastard got sussed out and …’ He paused, waiting for a reaction.
‘So I ain’t going away this weekend then? Fuck it. I was looking forward to that.’
Harry flicked his eyes to the rear-view mirror again. ‘You’re a heartless cow.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, I was taught by the best, Harry.’
The thought circled in his mind: she wasn’t wrong. They had pressured her when she was a kid not to show weakness and indoctrinated her in the belief that only wimps cry, and everyone is out for themselves.
He remembered when she was only thirteen, and all the girls in her class were invited to a party except her. She’d fallen out with this young girl called Amberley Fitzgerald. He shuddered when he thought about it; perhaps, on that occasion, his family had gone too far.
Amberley had made it quite clear that she wouldn’t be friends with Paris because Paris had taken her boyfriend away. Amberley lived in a big house in Wilderness Avenue in Chislehurst. Her parents were bankers, and so she always had the latest clothes that outshone any other girl, plus she had a pretty face with long dark curly hair. She had it all. All the girls wanted to be friends with her, and so when they went against his sister, it was a racing certainty that all hell would break loose, no matter what.
When Paris came home in tears and told them that she’d been victimized and bullied, Harry and Vinnie went mental. They told her 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