The Hunted. Kerry Barnes
out where she came from. She was too embarrassed to take him to her house, always keeping up the pretence that she was from a good home. Jackie’s inferiority complex often proved to be her own undoing. With her nose in the air, she would look down on people – and take enormous pleasure in doing so.
He knocked on a door which had seen better days. A croaky voice called out, ‘Who is it? I ain’t properly dressed!’
‘Gilly, it’s me, Mikey. Open up, love.’
He heard her rattling a key in the lock and struggling to slide back two bolts, before, finally, she pulled the door ajar. Through the small crack, where he could see her beady eye, the smell hit him: the whole place reeked of dogs, fags, and piss.
‘Let me in, Gilly, please. I need a word.’
She undid the security chain and stepped aside, allowing her huge son-in-law to enter.
As he wandered from the passageway straight into the living room, she waddled in behind him, her worn-out features on a par with the equally antiquated Dralon sofa, onto which Mike slumped.
He looked her over and shook his head. Gilly was a state and a half. Her once thick hair was thin and straggly; it was held away from her wrinkled face by two hair clips. A bright-green velour tracksuit with ‘Juicy Couture’ embroidered on the back was her attempt at looking trendy. But the colour didn’t do anything for her muted complexion, and the loose material around the knees and backside made her look even thinner than she was. He wondered if she’d ever been attractive in her younger years. Stick-thin and gaunt, she looked who she was, a typical junkie. ‘What’s up, Mikey? Ya never visit …’ She noticed his white face. ‘Mikey, love?’
‘Jackie and Ricky have gone missing.’ It hurt him even to say those words. A lump idled in his throat.
‘They ain’t ’ere, Mikey … and what’s she doing? If I know my Jackie, and if she did do the off, she wouldn’t take the boy. She loves herself too much, that one. Bastard of a mother she is …’ She realized she’d just spoken out of turn. But there was no love lost: she hated her daughter. Not that she always had; in fact, she’d absolutely doted on her until the day her daughter found herself a Saturday job and started spending money on doing herself up. That was the time she turned on her mother, starting with all the bitchy comments and ending with violence.
‘Gilly, where would she go? Who are her friends?’
Gilly took a seat. Mike noticed how thin she’d become; her bony mottled red feet were like those of a chicken. He looked at her shaky hands and assumed she was back on the drugs.
‘Friends? You gotta be bleedin’ joking, ain’t ya? Don’t make me laugh. The girl only uses people. How you put up with her, I’ll never know. Ya must have the patience of a saint. It’s Ricky I feel sorry for.’
His jaw tightened; just hearing his son’s name made him feel sick with worry.
‘Look, Gilly, can’t ya think of anyone she may have gone to?’
Looking up at the ceiling, Gilly tried to think if Jackie had mentioned anyone from the past, but the reality was Jackie never spoke to her. Not about anything personal, anyway. With her, it was all just snide remarks. ‘Oh, Mikey, I wish I could help, but ya see, I can’t. Jackie, she’s such a sly one. She’s too many secrets, that girl.’
Mike jolted. ‘Like what?’
Gilly was still a little stoned. She realized she’d just said far too much. She knew a lot about Mike. He could be like a rottweiler when it suited him. He certainly wouldn’t rest until she told him.
‘Well?’
Gilly felt uncomfortable. She rubbed the front of her thighs with her arthritis-crippled fingers. Mike suddenly noticed that the room still had the threadbare carpets, the peeling 1970’s wallpaper, and the former cream-coloured suite – now a dirty grey – that he’d seen on his last visit a year ago. A frown etched its way across his forehead.
She watched him scan the room. Then, without a word, he jumped up from his seat and headed towards the hallway and directly into the kitchen.
He glared with scornful eyes at the original council kitchen, made of cheap melamine, that over the years had bubbled and split. The worktops had no edging on them and were sharp at the corners, to say the least. The linoleum tiles were an odd assortment and partly missing. He then focused on the dripping tap and the build-up of limescale on the sink. Everything in the room was old and rotten. The space in the corner, where the dog bed had once been, had a dirty brown stain on the walls.
He spun around to face Gilly and realized that he hadn’t noticed until now how she was holding herself up with a walking stick. His worn, worried face was all too much for Gilly. ‘What is it Mikey?’ she asked, her voice soft and now very much concerned. She hoped the look on his face was because he was worried about her. But she got that wrong.
‘You fucking scag head! All the money I gave you to have this shit-hole done up, so when my Ricky comes to visit he wouldn’t scratch his face on this disgusting worktop, or crawl around in the filth. I bet you just snorted the fucking lot.’ He expected Gilly to look suitably contrite. Instead, and to his utter amazement, he was met with a look of sheer horror – and disbelief – on her face.
‘What money?’
‘The fucking money Jackie took off me, to get this house cleaned up.’
Now it was Gilly’s turn to frown. ‘I saw no money, Mikey. As Gawd is my witness, I ain’t ’ad a penny off neither of youse.’
Mike detected a slight gypsy tongue. ‘You’re a fucking liar! I bet you spent every tenner on drugs, didn’t ya?’
Gilly felt her limbs trembling; she needed to sit down. Slowly, she trudged over to the small rickety table where she sat uncomfortably. Taking a few deep breaths, she looked him squarely in the eyes as she replied, ‘I ain’t taken drugs in over ten bleedin’ years. I only smoke the smallest amount of weed for me pain. And I’ve never touched it when I’ve been babysitting little Ricky, love his heart. As for money, don’t you think if I’d had any, I’d have tried to make me poxy, flea-ridden home ’alf decent?’
Mike sighed. This evening was getting worse by the minute. ‘So, you mean to tell me that Jackie never gave you a penny for a new kitchen, a sofa, even carpets, and, let me think, a swing set for the garden?’
‘Swing set? Are you ’aving a laugh, Mikey? No, she never gave me fuck all.’ Gilly looked around and felt embarrassed by the state of the place. ‘Mikey, look, I never was this untidy. I do try me best, but I can ’ardly move me fingers, and the quack reckons I need two new knees. I know it looks terrible, but I do try to take Ricky to the park when I babysit every week … Mikey, you will still let me see him, won’t ya? I mean, I love that baby, I do. He’s all I’ve got to look forward to.’
Mike closed his eyes and took a gulp of air, trying to clear his mind. ‘What d’ya mean by “every week”? I thought it was once a month you babysat?’ He looked at her now with some compassion, and his voice softened. He might have known Jackie would have kept the money. She was all about the bees and honey. He knew she would take far more than she needed, and what she spent it on, he didn’t bother to ask – it would only end in another row.
Gilly sensed his calmer tone and looked up. ‘Tuesdays, Thursdays, and every other Saturday, when Jackie gets her hair and nails and stuff done. She brings him to me after school or drops him off on a Saturday morning. I thought you knew? I mean, I’d never hurt little Ricky. I try me best to play games and read with him if it’s raining. I don’t cook in that kitchen. I always buy in little ready-made meals and cakes, so you don’t have ta worry.’
Mike was trying to keep his breathing shallow, but his huge chest was puffing in and out, raising his whole torso by a good five inches.
‘Sorry, Gilly. Of course I know you babysit Ricky, but let me get this clear. Jackie drops him off to you every other Saturday for the day and also on a Tuesday