The Victim (32 page)

Eddie grinned at the mention of his favourite aunt. His dad’s brother Albert had died a couple of years back, but even though they were now all in their eighties, Joanie, Vi and Reg were all still going strong. ‘She’s fine, babe. She’ll outlive all of us, will Joanie,’ Ed replied, chuckling.

As Stuart unlocked his BMW, he immediately spotted Frankie’s present. He put Aaron in the back and grabbed the bag. ‘Get in the car, Ed. I just wanna give this to Frankie,’ he said, running back towards the house.

Frankie was still standing at the front door. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

‘Have a look inside and you’ll find out.’

Frankie looked inside the gift bag. ‘Ahh, Stu, you shouldn’t have done that, you silly sod. Why did you buy them for me?’

‘Because you liked ’em, you doughnut. I also thought you might need a bit of cheering up today.’

Frankie put the bag down and flung her arms around Stuart’s neck. ‘Thanks ever so much, mate, that’s really thoughtful of ya.’

‘I’d better go, else your dad’ll be cursing,’ Stuart said. He was enjoying the feel of her body against his a bit too much.

‘You popping round again tomorrow?’ Frankie asked him.

‘Why don’t me, you, Babs and the kids all go for a Sunday roast tomorrow? My treat.’

‘We’ll come with you, but you ain’t paying for us all. Me and Babs can pay half towards it.’

‘Whatever. I’ll pick you up at one,’ Stuart said, walking away. Frankie rarely let him pay for anything for her and he knew deep down it was because she didn’t feel romantically about him. There was little point in arguing with her, because if he did, she wouldn’t go for the bloody meal.

Babs giggled as Frankie shut the front door. ‘You and that man gonna get married one day. You a match made in heaven, sweet child.’

Frankie glared at her friend. Babs hadn’t changed since they’d first met in prison. Her mass of afro hair was exactly the same, her smile could still light up a room, and she was, unfortunately, still a bloody wind-up merchant.

‘Don’t start all that bollocks, ’cause I’m telling you now – see me? I’m never gonna marry anyone. All men are wankers, Babs. I hate ’em.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Georgie O’Hara put on her red low-cut top, wiggled her voluptuous hips and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Her ripped jeans clung to her buttocks and legs like they were moulded to her skin and the new top she had bought yesterday showed off her fantastic cleavage, just as she’d known it would.

Most girls her age were still in bunches, playing with their dolls, but not Georgie. She was extremely aware of her sex appeal and, with her pretty face, long legs, mass of dark wavy hair and ample breasts, she looked more like an eighteen-year-old, rather than a young girl who had just entered her teenage years.

‘What you doin’ in there? I hope you’re not putting that crap on your face again,’ Alice shouted, banging on her granddaughter’s bedroom door.

Georgie quickly put on her black Puffa jacket and zipped it up to the neck. She checked that she had her make-up and compact mirror in her pocket, then flung open her bedroom door. ‘I told you, I threw the make-up away. If you don’t believe me, search my bloody room,’ she replied, her voice full of attitude.

Alice stared into her granddaughter’s fiery green eyes. When Georgie was angry, beauty shone from her like a beacon and her stunning looks worried Alice immensely. She was already a hit with the boys, especially that Ryan Maloney, who was always sniffing around.

‘You’re not too old for a cuddle, are you?’ Alice said, smiling. She hated rowing with Georgie, liked to keep the peace.

Georgie obediently put her arms around her nan’s plump body and hugged her lovingly. Unlike most of her friends’ nans who were ugly old bats, Alice was still quite attractive. She had stunning green eyes, which were enhanced by her jet-black, thick hair and Georgie was actually quite proud of her. The only thing that grated on her was that her nan still treated her like a little girl, and she was anything but.

‘What you up to today? Not going out with that boy again, are you?’ Alice asked worriedly.

Desperate to avoid the usual long-winded interrogation, Georgie decided to lie. ‘No, Nan. I’m goin’ pictures with Josie, and then I’m gonna go shopping with my birthday money.’

‘Enjoy yourself, then, and make sure you’re back by nine,’ Alice shouted as Georgie shut the trailer door. She liked it when Georgie went shopping and to the pictures with young Josie. It was what little girls should be doing at her age, not knocking about with boys all the time. Feeling happy, Alice picked up her duster. She was proud of her luxurious five-bedroom mobile home, especially when it was gleaming, and she had two women coming over later for a reading.

When Alice dusted the photo frames, she took extra care of the ones that held pictures of the deceased. There was a beauty of Jimmy holding her grandson, Lukey boy, and a lovely one of her son, Mark, on his wedding day. Alice picked up the photo of Jed and Sammy sitting side by side on their horse and cart. Jed and Sammy had been more than just cousins, they’d been best pals, business partners and had spent their whole lives together as if they’d been joined at the hip, bless them.

‘God rest your soul, boy,’ Alice said as she put the photograph back on the cabinet.

Feeling mournful all of a sudden, Alice made herself a brew and took it outside to drink. It was a warm day for March, the birds were singing and the sun was shining brightly. Sitting on the step, Alice tilted her head towards the sun’s rays. She loved living in Scotland, preferred it a thousand times more than living in that doomed house in Essex.

Alice shut her eyes and allowed her mind to drift back to all those years ago when Jimmy had first bought their house in Rainham. It was certainly lavish and very posh, but Alice had had bad vibes about it from the moment she had first stepped over the threshold to view it. ‘I don’t like it, Jimmy. We’ll have no happiness living here. Please don’t buy it, let’s stay where we are,’ Alice had pleaded.

Desperate to get one up on Eddie bloody Mitchell, who he knew had enquired about the property, Jimmy had ignored her advice and bought the poxy place. Alice shook her head. If only Jimmy had listened to her warnings, their lives would have been so very different. The house had been cursed from the word go. So much badness had happened while they’d lived there, it was beyond belief. Jimmy having an affair had set the ball rolling. Alice had left him for years, but when she finally forgave him and moved back home, everything else started to go wrong. Jed got involved with Eddie Mitchell’s slut of a daughter, Frankie. Marky boy was killed by Eddie’s brothers, and just when Alice thought things could get no worse, her grandson Luke had had his brains blown out at poor Marky’s funeral. Then there was the last murder, the final nail in the coffin that had forced them to do a moonlight flit to Jimmy’s pal’s plot of land in Scotland.

‘Why fucking Scotland?’ Alice had screamed at her husband at the time.

‘Glasgow is the perfect place for us to hide out with the chavvies. It has such a small travelling community, it’ll be the last place anyone comes looking for us and even if they do, they’ll never find us on Mickey Maloney’s land,’ Jimmy had reassured her.

For once, her husband had been right. Mickey Maloney owned five acres of land situated off the southbound carriageway of the A80. Mickey’s family also lived on the land, along with four other travelling families. They were a happy, tight-knit little community that trusted one another implicitly and Alice had become especially friendly with Sarah, who lived in the mobile home opposite her.

Hearing the sound of her son’s cumbersome tipper truck approaching, Alice snapped out of her daydream and opened her eyes. When she and Jimmy had first moved to Scotland, they’d refused to tell their son Billy their whereabouts, because they didn’t trust his big-mouthed wife, Shannon. Billy had left Shannon just over a year ago and had since moved to Glasgow with his eighteen-year-old son, Mush. Alice loved having her son and grandson living next door to her. After losing so many important people in her life, the family she had left meant the world to her.

‘You seen or heard from your father on your travels?’ Alice asked, with a hint of annoyance in her voice. She’d been trying to get hold of Jimmy earlier, but he wasn’t answering his bloody phone.

‘Yeah, I spoke to him earlier. He was dropping a horse off in Stirling, then he was going for a game of cards with the lads.’

Knowing full well that whenever her husband played cards, he rolled up home pissed, Alice batted her eyes in pretend annoyance. She wasn’t really angry, though. As the old saying goes, boys will be boys.

Harry O’Hara ducked behind a tree as he saw the farmer’s Land Rover heading towards him and urged his pal Sonny to do the same. ‘Right, let’s do this quick while the coast is clear,’ Harry said, with a mischievous glint in his eye.

At eleven years old, Harry was virtually unrecognisable as the timid little boy he’d once been. His once almost white hair had now darkened and was more of a messy strawberry blonde. He had a front tooth missing, which had recently been knocked out in a fight with some older boys and, worse still, he’d picked up every bad trait he had ever heard his father talk about.

‘’Ere cacker, you chase the kanny towards me and I’ll catch it,’ Harry ordered Sonny. Kanny was the Romany word for chicken.

The bird clucked and darted about for a good five minutes before Sonny and Harry managed to corner it.

‘Gertcha, ya shitcunt,’ Harry shrieked, grabbing the chicken by its scrawny neck.

Knowing it was about to die, the bird let out one more tired cluck. Seconds later it went to chicken heaven.

Jimmy O’Hara was with Mickey Maloney and four other travelling lads in a pub called the Babbity Bowster in Glasgow town centre. Rumour had it the boozer was named after a Scottish country dance, but Jimmy didn’t know if there was any truth in the fable or not. Jimmy sorted through his cards and confidently smirked. There was over three-hundred quid in the kitty and if he didn’t win this game of nine-card brag, he’d eat his fucking hat.

‘Come to Daddy,’ he said, as he laid his four sevens onto the sticky table.

‘You’re a jammy cunt, O’Hara,’ Mickey Maloney said, laughing.

‘Same again?’ Jimmy asked, standing up.

‘One for the road and then we’d better get home to them women of ours,’ Mickey replied.

Jimmy was in a jolly mood as he strolled up to the bar. Life in Glasgow was wonderful, and since moving from Rainham, apart from selling a few motors and horses, Jimmy spent his days in the boozer and his evenings with his family. He had no need to work any more. He’d sold the house in Rainham for nearly two million quid, and could quite easily manage on the proceeds if he lived to be a hundred. Jimmy smirked as he thought about how clever he’d been about that house. He’d originally bought it in 1978 and, because he was dodgy-dealing at the time, had put the deeds in Johnny Bullock’s name. Johnny Bullock was the closet friend that Jimmy had ever had. They were brought up together as kids and were more like brothers than mates. At the time Johnny had owned an incredibly successful building empire, therefore trust wasn’t an issue. Jimmy had obviously treated Johnny for his massive favour. He’d given him ten grand back in the day and another fifty when he’d sold the gaff in 1995. Johnny had now moved to the Costa Blanca. He’d always been a fucker for the young birds and had recently married a twenty-year-old Spanish tart called Adriana. Johnny’s address was still registered to the authorities as Birmingham and this thought always made Jimmy chuckle because it was another master stroke he’d managed to pull off against Eddie Mitchell. Jimmy rarely thought about Mitchell any more these days. He still wished him dead, but he could no longer be bothered to kill the man himself. Jimmy was fifty-eight now, age had mellowed him to some extent and he just wanted to live the rest of his life in peace. Too many of his family had already lost their lives because of his feud with Mitchell, and Jimmy couldn’t bear the thought of losing any more.

‘Three times I’ve just asked you – what you want to drink? Are you OK, pal?’ the young barman asked, waving his hand in front of Jimmy’s weatherworn face.

Jimmy automatically snapped out of his trance. ‘Yes, mush, I’ll have the same round again. Sorry about that, I was miles away, boy.’

Ryan Maloney groaned with pleasure as he ran his hands over Georgie O’Hara’s perfect breasts. He knew she was young, very young, but she looked so much older than thirteen and he couldn’t help the way he felt about her. Lunging his tongue inside Georgie’s mouth, Ryan put her hand on the zip of his jeans.

‘Wank me off, babe. Please just do it the once,’ he begged.

Georgie immediately snatched her hand away. She knew the effect she had on Ryan Maloney and she thoroughly enjoyed tantalising him.

‘Stop it, Ryan. You know I’m not gonna do it,’ Georgie said, flicking her hair seductively over her naked shoulder.

‘But I love you Georgie, you know I wanna marry you when you’re sixteen.’

Spotting Ryan’s hardness clearly showing through his jeans, Georgie purposely brushed her hand against his penis as she lent on his leg to stand up. ‘Where’s this special birthday present you keep banging on about, then?’ she asked. He’d already given her three presents yesterday, but had held one back for today.

‘Touch me cory for ten seconds and you can have it,’ Ryan replied cheekily.

‘I’ll touch it for five, but only if you keep it inside your jeans.’

‘Deal,’ Ryan replied, grinning.

Georgie did as she’d promised and smiled as Ryan caught his breath, shut his eyes and shuddered. At fifteen years old, Ryan was the youngest son of Mickey Maloney. Like Georgie, Ryan didn’t go to school, but his arms and legs were full of muscle where he’d always worked for his dad. He only did odd jobs and stuff, but they had given him a physique of a twenty-one-year old. Ryan had short, dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, a cheeky smile and had been the heart-throb of all the travelling girls until about six months ago. It was then that Georgie had sprouted enormous breasts, grown a few inches and had virtually changed from a child into a woman overnight. Ryan had become besotted with her, and they’d been a couple ever since.

‘Never give yourself to a mush before he marries you, Georgie. Once men get their wicked way with you they lose interest almost immediately and you don’t want people to think you’re a slag like your mother was, do you now?’ her nan had said in one of her many birds and bees talks.

Georgie inwardly laughed at her nan’s words of advice. She had been streetwise from a very young age and, apart from letting Ryan Maloney fondle her naked breasts, had no intention of doing anything overly sexual with him until he married her. Ryan’s father was extremely wealthy and Georgie knew full well that once she and Ryan were wed she would live a charmed life and want for nothing.

Ryan stood up and grinned as he pushed his groin against Georgie. He put his hands on her juicy buttocks and kissed her passionately.

Georgie touched tongues with Ryan, then immediately pushed him away. ‘Er, present,’ she said stroppily, holding out her right hand.

‘Shut your eyes, then,’ Ryan urged her.

When Georgie did as he asked, Ryan put his hand inside the pocket of his jacket and placed a small, red velvet box in her hand. ‘You can open ’em now,’ he told her.

Georgie opened the box and squealed with delight as she clocked the ring. It was a round gold band with what looked like diamonds in the centre of it. ‘Give us it ’ere. I wanna put it on for ya,’ Ryan said, placing it on her wedding finger. ‘You know what this ring means, don’t you, Georgie?’