The Rules. Kerry Barnes
she thought he was. Maybe the years of separation had conjured up a dreamlike portrait of this wonderful loving father, a father who was left out in the cold, his child ripped away from him. But, obviously, she’d been living in a fantasy world, dreaming of her ideal father, not the one who was sitting next to her with that curled lip and an expression that told her she was a nobody in his life.
Hurt and angry, she wasn’t going to let it go. ‘I get it, Dad, you are into something dangerous, and you don’t want me to know or be a part of your life so that I don’t get caught up in it, or, worse, hurt.’
His face lit up and flushed red, as a laugh left his mouth. ‘Jesus, fucking shit! You really are fucking clueless, ain’t ya?’ He shook his head and laughed again. ‘I’m gonna take you back to the station.’
Now fuming that her father had the gall to laugh in her face, she spat back, ‘Spineless!’
‘You fucking what?’ he growled.
‘You heard, Dad. You’re fucking spineless. You should have fought to keep me, and now I’m old enough to leave home and live with you, you really haven’t got the guts to fight her, have you?’
Suddenly, she saw a threat in his gaze and her heart beat wildly. ‘Do you know what? You’re actually right. I haven’t got a clue. Just take me back to the station, you get on with your drug peddling, and I’ll find my own fucking way in life, without you and my stupid twat of a mother.’
Suddenly, the tables had turned. Jesus, I hadn’t expected that rebuke, he thought. His face fell as he blew out a deep sigh.
‘Okay, listen. My life ain’t all about that. My business is my fucking business that you have no clue about, so get the notion of drugs and dealing outta ya head. It ain’t what you think, but, see, herein is where the problem lies. You see a small picture and blow it up into a full-length feature film, and that, Kenny, I can’t fucking ’ave . . . But I’ll tell ya what I’ll do. I have a flat above the hairdresser’s in Petts Wood. You can have it with my blessing. You’re twenty, I know, even though that mother of yours has demanded you stay under her roof until you pay back all you owe, so it’s time you grew up. Next week, I’ll meet you at the Daylight Inn and I’ll give you the keys. Have ya got a job lined up?’
Wow! She hadn’t seen that coming. In wide-eyed excitement, her thoughts rapidly processed the idea of having her own pad. But then she felt her elation plummet. She didn’t have a job because her mother had put a stop to that. Shoving job applications right under her nose every five minutes, demanding she put herself forward for positions at legal firms, had driven her mad: she really had no interest in any of them.
‘I can work for you. Dad, you can trust me.’
He laughed again. ‘Kenny, I trust no one, and I mean no one. Let’s be honest, you may be my kid, but I don’t even know you. And, for all I know, she could have you clocking my every fucking move – the sly bitch.’
‘But why would she do that, Dad? I mean, she’s got her life with Alastair and the girls, a big house, and the poxy career of her dreams.’
Kendall clocked the tightness in his face melt away, as his green eyes clouded over, and his heavy brows dropped.
‘You really have led quite a sheltered life . . . ’ He paused. ‘Maybe it was for the best.’
A sudden urgency to know what he meant urged her to push for an explanation. ‘Come on, Dad, give me some clue as to what you mean? I at least deserve that. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t ask to be born into this family, or any fucking family.’
The serious tone in her voice made him sit up like a soldier. ‘Your mother hasn’t worked hard for her career, ya know, she was forced into it. Yeah, she loves the status, but, in truth, she’s just a face, behind a puppetmaster.’
Kendall chewed the inside of her mouth in contemplation. ‘Who’s the puppetmaster, then?’
A stubborn silence lingered a few moments before he huffed. ‘Look, Kendall, forget I said that. Yeah, ya mother has a good career. That aside, as much as you find her a toffee-nosed irritant, she’s still ya mother. You can have the flat . . . But I need to get going, so I’ll drop you off back at the station.’
***
It had been a month since Mike had been reunited with his son, and as he awoke before the buzzer sounded, he looked across at him sleeping. He had done the same thing every morning. Eleven years of believing Ricky was dead had left him with a constant feeling of worry. He watched his son’s soft-skinned face and floppy hair glow from the sun shining in through the small toughened glass window. His heart skipped a beat with excitement that beside him was his boy, his reason for living.
As much as his son put a loving smile on his face, in the back of his mind, there were thoughts of revenge that ate away at him. Dez Weller. He was the monster who had burned nearly every one of his photos of Ricky when Mike believed he was dead. And within hours of his arrival at Maidstone Prison, he’d found this bastard with a knife at his son’s throat. That was resolved, but then he discovered that Weller wanted Ricky as his bitch. Revenge for the latter abomination should have been a given but it wasn’t safe enough. He now had too much to lose; his liberty was paramount to ensure he’d be on the outside with his family, where he could protect them.
The last twelve years had been a whirlwind of frustration. Not being able to help his girlfriend Zara Ezra when she’d seemingly disappeared off the planet, and powerless to do anything to find his son, were not the normal kinds of challenges of life for anyone, and he rightly felt that he’d had more than his fair share.
Ricky stirred, and his eyes fluttered open. ‘Morning, Dad.’
Mike was sitting upright in just his boxer shorts. At forty-five years old, he was as solid as any younger man in his twenties. He smiled. ‘Did ya sleep well?’
Ricky nodded. ‘Yeah. Actually, I’ve slept like a baby ever since we shared a cell.’
Mike laughed. ‘I thought as much. Cor, you can’t half snore.’
‘You can talk,’ said Ricky, jokingly. ‘I’m gonna have a shower and then see what job they’ve assigned for me. I bet it’s mopping floors again.’
Ricky quickly pushed the sheet away and sat up straight. His fringe bounced, covering his eyes.
Mike watched him, remembering the six-year-old with his messy hair. Really, he was still the same. ‘Wait for me, Ricky . . . ’
‘Dad, honestly, I’ll be fine. Dez gives me a wide berth now, and his mates don’t even look me way. As for Tatum and Tyrone, I ain’t seen much of ’em.’
Mike stood up and reached for his tracksuit bottoms neatly folded at the end of the metal bedstead. ‘I ain’t taking any chances, though.’
‘Listen, Dad, I get it, right? But when I first arrived ’ere, I didn’t know anyone, and I was scared. When I lived with me muvver, she let Tatum and Tyrone do what they liked to me. I had no one to go running to. So, I accepted what life had in store. I couldn’t argue or fight back because the minute I did, I would’ve had Tatum’s three sons on me back. And Muvver always sided with Tatum. When Dez started bullying me, I was back in the same situation. I had no one to back me up, except Willie, but now I’ve got you. Having my family back means I can stick up for myself because I have protection. I can be who I want to be now.’
Mike could feel the lump in his throat. Ricky hadn’t gone into too much detail of what his life had been like. Mike believed that his son was saving him from further heartache. The thought of his boy feeling alone was enough to cripple him. And now he was worried because inside prison the rules were not the same. The sly dig with a shiv could end anyone’s life, not least his son’s. The likes of Dez wouldn’t go a single round in the boxing ring: he would be too underhanded. Just the sideways glance from the Yardie’s shifty eyes made Mike nervous – not for himself, but for his son.
‘I’m going