The Reprisal Read online

  * * *

  As usual for a Sunday evening, The Jolly Fisherman public house was heaving with customers, all of them in a joyous mood as they crammed in a few more drinking hours before they returned to work the following morning.

  Storming through the pub door, the scent of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke hit Cathy full on. Tears threatened to sting her eyes and her skin became ashen as she spotted her husband sat brazenly on a barstool with his little tart’s arm draped around his neck, as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear.

  “See, what did I tell you?” Angie spat. “He’s making a mockery of you, and that’s putting it mildly.”

  “I’m not putting up with it anymore, Mum,” Cathy growled over her shoulder. She pushed her way through the crowd, and coming to a halt just a few feet away from her husband, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Well, this looks fucking cozy,” she spat.

  Caught in the act, they sprang apart. The action brought her no comfort and she glared at each of them in turn. “Well?” she demanded. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  The smirk that snaked its way across Donna’s face only angered Cathy even further, and reaching for the nearest glass, she threw the contents into her face.

  “Oi.” Terrance jumped to his feet, and as he shoved Donna from his lap, she landed on the floor with a scream. “What the fuck do you think you are playing at?” he bellowed. Taking the cuff of his shirt, he wiped traces of claret coloured wine away from his face, all the while, cursing his wife.

  “What am I playing at?” Cathy screeched back. “What the fuck are you doing with her?” Lunging forward, she screamed in his face. “I trusted you, you even swore on our baby’s life.”

  “It’s not what it looks like.” A hushed silence fell across the bar, and as Terrance looked around him, he inwardly groaned. The stupid mare had made him look a fool in front of the entire pub. “So, do yourself and everyone else, for that matter, a favour, shut your trap, walk back through those doors, and go fucking home.”

  Cathy glared, and looking up at her husband, she took in his bloated face and sly, beady eyes. For the first time since he had walked into her life, she saw him, really saw him, just as everyone else around her did. In that moment, it hit her. What exactly was it that she was fighting so hard for? Her mum was right. He was a liar, a waster, and a ponce. It was a lightbulb moment and rage at her own stupidity began to burn through her. Enough was enough, as far as she was concerned. Donna was welcome to him.

  “Tell her, Tel. Tell her that you’re gonna leave her as soon as she’s dropped that kid.”

  “Shut up.” Glancing behind him, Terrance hissed out the words.

  Getting to her feet, Donna thrust her chest in Cathy’s direction. “He’s my man, and you need to get that through your thick skull.” She spread open her arms and smirked. “Always has been, always will be.”

  A giggle that began in Cathy’s belly edged its way up through her chest and out of her throat, and throwing her head back, she roared with laughter.

  “Cathy.” As she looked around her at the stunned faces in the crowd, Angie tugged on her daughter’s arm. “This isn’t the time to be laughing, darling. This isn’t a joke.”

  Wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes, Cathy glanced behind her. “Oh, but it is, Mum. He is the fucking joke.” She turned her attention to Donna. “And as for you, little girl, you’re welcome to him, darling.” She spread out her arms. “He’s all yours and good luck to you, because you’re gonna fucking need it.”

  “What?”

  “I said that he’s all yours.” Lunging forward, Cathy grabbed a handful of her adversary’s dark hair and pulled her across the small round wooden table that separated them. “You’re welcome to him,” she spat, “but this,” her free hand formed a fist and she swung it forward, “is for trying to treat me like I’m some kind of fucking mug.”

  “She’s crazy.” Falling to the floor, Donna threw her arms across her head and whelped out loud. “Help me, Tel,” she cried. “For fuck’s sake, do something and help me.”

  A blind mist had fallen across Cathy and her feet still continued to kick out, even as she was finally being dragged away from the terrified girl.

  “Go home.” Grabbing his wife’s elbow, Terrance snarled. “I told you to go fucking home.”

  “Get off me.” Still breathing heavily through her flared nostrils, Cathy wrenched her arm free and spat out the words. “I meant what I said. She’s welcome to you. Me and you are done.” She yanked her wedding ring off of her finger and flung it across the pub. The clang of the metal as it hit the floor and rolled into an unused dusty corner was as loud as a gunshot. “We are done,” she screamed.

  The punch to the side of her face silenced not only Cathy, but the entire pub, and as they looked around at each other, not one person attempted to pull the big man off of his wife.

  “Get off of her.” It took a moment for Angie to comprehend what had just taken place, and coming to her senses, she grasped a handful of Terrance’s collar, and using all of her strength, she tried to pull him away from her daughter.

  Terrance batted Angie away from him. Dragging Cathy toward the doors, he snarled at his mother-in-law. “Do yourself a favour and fuck off, before I do you some damage. And as for you,” he hissed, tightening his fist around Cathy’s arm, “I told you to go fucking home.”

  * * *

  “What the fuck happened in here?” Entering through the side entrance, Paul had arrived just minutes too late. He took in the scene before him and his eyes widened. Broken glass was in the process of being swept up, and as he made his way toward the bar area, he sidestepped around the damage.

  Stella joined him at the bar and raised her eyebrows. “She shocked me, that’s for sure. I didn’t even know she had it in her.”

  “Who?” Leaning casually against the bar, Paul looked down at his sister. “Has old Maud been up to her usual tricks again?” He smiled as he looked across at the elderly woman in question. Sitting at a corner table in a world of her own, Maud sipped at a glass of port and lemon. Mad Maud they called her, and many a time, she had screamed the pub down, just because someone had looked at her the wrong way.

  “No,” Stella sighed cautiously, “and how I answer that question depends on what sort of mood you’re in.”

  “What sort of mood I’m in?” Straightening up, Paul screwed up his face. “What are you talking about?” He glanced around him, a bewildered expression across his face. “What happened in here?”

  Stella bit down on her lip. She knew her brother inside out, and knew he was about to go absolutely ape-shit when he found out what had just gone down. She smoothed down her hair, stalling for time. “It was your Cathy.”

  “Cathy?” Paul’s eyes widened, and as he looked around him for a second time, a slither of panic slid down his spine, making the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. Across the bar, his gaze found Angie. The expression of worry etched across her face only heightened his concern. “Is she okay? Has she been hurt?”

  “Is she okay?” Stella laughed. “It was Cathy who caused all of this. Donna Cassidy, the silly little cow, took the brunt of her rage, and as for Matlock, well, he copped a face full of red wine for his trouble, and that was just the start of it.”

  “Matlock,” Paul snarled. He pushed himself away from the bar and clenched his fists. “What did the no-good ponce do this time?”

  “What do you think?” Stella sighed. “What he always does … paraded that little tart Donna around. He gave Cathy a pretty hefty backhander as well, before dragging her out, and from the look of it, it wasn’t the first time either.” She paused and reached out to touch her brother’s forearm. “Don’t get involved, Paul,” she begged of him. “Stay out of it. Cathy is a fool for staying with the man, you know that as well as I do. She had her chance to get away from him, and well,” she raised her eyebrows, her beautiful face looking forlorn, “she took him back, didn’t
she? That’s got to tell you something.” She studied her brother’s handsome face, forcing him to look at her. “This thing you’ve got for her needs to end and fast, before she makes a fool of you. She made her choice, made her bed so to speak, now leave her to lie in it.”

  Backhander … that was the only word that resonated inside Paul’s brain, and as he shook his sister’s arm away from him, he snarled. “Keep your nose out of my business, Stell. In fact, sister or no sister, I’m warning you now, keep your opinions about Cathy to yourself.”

  Stella’s mouth dropped open. “I was only …”

  “I said, keep out of it.” Paul stabbed his finger forward. At times, Stella reminded him of a jealous girlfriend rather than his sister, his own flesh and blood. “I don’t want to hear it, all right?” He began to walk away, paused, then retraced his steps. “You might keep Jay,” he said, referring to his best friend, “on a short leash, but don’t you dare try to do the same with me. You are not my fucking keeper,” he growled.

  As her brother stormed back out of the pub, Stella chewed on her bottom lip. “I was only trying to help,” she called after him, and when she received no reply, she threw her arms up into the air. There was trouble brewing, she could feel it in her bones. Reaching inside her handbag, she took out her purse and made her way across to the far side of the pub where a public payphone was attached to the wall. “Jay,” she sighed, pushing more coins into the slot, “I need you to go and find that idiot brother of mine, before he goes and does something stupid.”

  * * *

  From a split eyebrow, blood trickled down the side of Cathy’s face. She kicked out her feet in a desperate attempt to get away from her husband’s heavy fists.

  He grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her roughly off of the sofa. Landing on the thin carpet with a loud thud, her hands and feet flayed around her, and resembling a pole cat, she fought even harder. Not only was she fighting for her own life, but also for the life of her unborn child. Out of breath, her cheeks were bright red and her hair that had been pulled up into a neat ponytail stuck out in all directions.

  “Leave me alone.” As she screamed out the words, she managed to scramble to her feet and escape his clutches. Red marks that would soon turn to bruises littered her face and her beaten body ached with each and every breath she took.

  “Leave you alone?” Terrance roared. “After what you’ve just done to me?” He jerked his thumb toward the front door and his voice rose even further. “You’ve just made a show of me, made me look like a mug in front of the entire fucking boozer.” He stalked forward until she was backed up against the kitchen sink. His eyes bulged, his face had turned bright red, and spittle gathered at the corners of his snarled lips as he lifted his large, clenched fist in the air.

  Cathy’s heart raced; she could taste her fear, it was that strong. Inside her womb, her baby kicked out furiously, almost as though he or she somehow sensed the danger they were both in. She reached out behind her and her fingers curled around a metal object. In her panic, she was unable to tell if it was a knife or a spoon. At that moment in time, she didn’t care what it was, as long as it stopped him and gave her enough time to free herself from his grasp. She brought the object around and jabbed at the side of his neck. It wasn’t hard enough to seriously harm, just startle him, or so she thought.

  The sharp nick to the side of his neck stopped Terrance dead in his tracks. He brought his hand up to touch the wound and the second he took it away again blood began to squirt upwards.

  “What have you done?” He staggered backward and still the blood squirted, spraying over himself, his wife, and the kitchen. In the distance, he could hear his wife’s screams and he dropped to his knees, still clutching at his neck.

  Cathy’s eyes were wide and filled with disbelief. Tearing them away from her husband, she looked down at the object in her hand. It was a small kitchen knife, the one she used to peel the vegetables on a Sunday morning. She dropped the knife to the floor and almost slipped on the blood in her haste to recoil away from him.

  “I thought it was a spoon,” she whimpered.

  Terrance’s eyes bulged and as blood covered his hands, face, and shirt. He began to groan. “Phone for an ambulance, you dozy mare,” he croaked out.

  Rooted to the spot, Cathy could only stare at her husband with wide frightened eyes.

  “The … phone … ” Slumping onto his side, Terrance’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his voice trailed off.

  “Tel?” Before taking a tentative step forward, Cathy placed her hand upon her chest as though the action would somehow steady her racing heart. There was no response. “Tel?” She stooped down as far as her swollen belly would allow her to and gingerly reached out her arm. “Tel?” She prodded him with a shaking finger. There was no response, and placing her hand on his shoulder blade, she shook him harder. “Tel, wake up.”

  Still, he didn’t respond.

  Chapter 6

  Paul was so incensed, he almost snapped the car key in half as he attempted to turn it in the ignition. Finally, the car purred to life, and pushing his foot down on the gas, he sped toward the edge of the carpark, leaving behind him a plume of exhaust fumes and dust.

  “Bollocks.” He shouted out the word, and slamming his foot on the brake, he lurched forward, almost crashing head-first through the windscreen before being thrown back in the seat. What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t even know where Cathy was. He knew she lived on the estate, but let’s face it, that didn’t mean she had left the pub and gone back to the home she shared with Matlock. For all he knew, she could have gone to her mother’s home, and if she hadn’t gone there, well, Harts Lane was a big estate and she could be absolutely anywhere. It would be the equivalent of searching for a needle in a haystack. He dragged his hand across his face, turned to look across at the pub, then reluctantly switched off the ignition, and threw open the car door.

  As he entered the pub, from the corner of his eye, Paul took note of his sister and shot her a warning glare to stay out of his way.

  “Where is she?”

  “Who?” Turning her head, Angie’s eyes were hard.

  “Cathy, who do you think I’m talking about?” He watched her squint up at him, the crow’s feet around her eyes becoming even more prominent. “I’m warning you, Angie, don’t fuck me about. Where is she?”

  “Piss off,” she slurred. “I ain’t gotta tell you fuck all.” Sitting back in her seat, she crossed her arms over her chest and licked at her dry lips. “Who the fuck do you think you are, coming in here and speaking to me like that?” She pointed a red painted talon toward his chest. “I’ve known you since you were a kid, you little shit, and you don’t scare me.” She gave a nasty chuckle. “In fact, it would take someone a lot bigger than you to scare me, sweetheart.”

  He leaned closer to her ear, his voice dripping with menace. “Then I’m going to tear this estate apart looking for her. The choice is yours, Ange. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but I can promise you now, I will find her.”

  He watched her pick up her wine glass and stifled down the urge to knock it out of her hand and shake her roughly by the shoulders. Despite her bravado, he could see her mentally weighing up her options. It was so typical of Angie. She never did anything unless she was going to benefit from it.

  “Angie,” he roared, “I’m this close to tearing the estate apart, starting with this fucking boozer.”

  Without looking up at him, she gave a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “He said he was taking her home. There, are you happy now?” she spat.

  Paul shook his head. “Do you know something, you are one selfish fucking cunt, Ange. She’s your daughter, your own flesh and blood. Why the fuck are you still sitting here, eh? Why ain’t you banging down her front door?” He clenched his fists into tight balls. “So help me God, if anything has happened to her, then you’d best start running as fast and as far away from me as you can, am I making myself clear? Because I
will end you for this, if it’s the last thing I ever fucking do.” He glared around the pub, and his voice rose as he now addressed the regulars who sat nursing their pints, the same regulars who had sat and watched Matlock raise his fists to a woman, the very same woman whom he just happened to love. “I’m gonna end all of you for this.”

  This time, Angie looked up. Despite the alcohol, she had sunk, the stark warning brought ice cold fear to her heart. She’d always known that he was dangerous. Even when he’d been a kid, there had been an underlying hint of menace about him. Hence why she’d put her foot down and put an end to his and her daughter’s budding romance, before he’d had the chance to become more than a permanent fixture in Cathy’s life.

  “In fact, Ange, you’ve just earned yourself a place on my shit list.” He stabbed a stiff finger dangerously close to her face. “And I’m telling you now that you’d better pray to God, to Allah, to whoever the fuck you want that that bastard hasn’t harmed a single hair on her head, because if he has, I will be coming back for you, and that ain’t no threat, sweetheart,” he said, emphasizing the word, “it’s a fucking promise.” With those parting words, he stormed out of the pub and made his way back to his car, all the while, cursing everyone and everything around him.

  From day one, he’d known that Terrance Matlock was bad news, and in a way, he blamed himself. He should have done more to warn Cathy off of him. In fact, he should have taken his fists to Matlock and beat the living daylights out of him, and God only knew he’d wanted to. He should have scared the bastard off from touching what was his, right from the very first moment he’d even had an inkling that Matlock was sniffing around and showing an interest. Instead, he’d skulked in the shadows, scowling like the jealous, pathetic fool he was.