Kimberley Chambers 3-Book Collection: The Schemer, The Trap, Payback. Kimberley Chambers

      ‘Call the police, Hymee. I demand that you call the police and have that woman arrested for what she has done,’ Anne insisted.

      Barry grabbed his mother from behind and managed to bundle her out of the room. Before shutting the door, he poked his head back around the frame and pointed his finger at Hymee. ‘If them three involve the Old Bill, you deny everything that my mother’s done. If you don’t and she or I get nicked, you’ll have me to deal with, understand?’

      Shaking like a leaf, Hymee fearfully nodded his head. The look of evil on Barry’s face had told him all that he needed to know. Ending up with a bullet through his head, like his old friend Jake had, was not the kind of death that he had planned for himself. Natural causes suited Hymee just fine.

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

      ‘Par, Dadda, par,’ Tyler yelled excitedly, toddling over to Wayne with chocolate cake all over his hands and face.

      ‘Oh, no you don’t. You’ll ruin Daddy’s suit, you messy little pup,’ Stephanie exclaimed, grabbing her son just in time. ‘Can you wash Tyler’s hands and face for me, darling?’ she asked Dannielle.

      ‘I wan go par,’ Tyler screamed, when Dannielle tried to lead him out of the room.

      ‘I suppose I’d best get going in a minute. I can’t be late for me own stag do, can I?’ Wayne said.

      ‘Where you meeting the lads?’ Stephanie asked.

      ‘Liverpool Street Station. I hate bastard trains, but everyone lives so far away from each other, it sort of made sense to meet there.’

      ‘How many of yous going now?’

      ‘There’s only six of us. I wanted to keep it small, ’cause I’m footing the bill,’ Wayne replied.

      ‘It’s not like you to worry about money. You usually spend it like water,’ Steph said, laughing.

      Wayne felt very sheepish and could barely look Stephanie in the eye. ‘We all have to pull our horns in sometimes, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow. Say goodbye to Danielle for me.’

      ‘You can say goodbye to her yourself,’ Steph replied, as she heard their daughter plodding down the stairs.

      Bending down, Wayne kissed both his children on the forehead.

      ‘Where you going, Daddy, and why you taking a big bag with you?’ Dannielle asked, inquisitively.

      ‘Daddy’s going out with his friends and while he’s staying in some posh hotel, me, you and Tyler will all be stuck here, bored,’ Stephanie said, chuckling.

      ‘Will Uncle Barry be there, Daddy?’ Dannielle asked.

      ‘Yep. He’ll be there,’ Wayne replied, stroking his daughter’s long, dark hair.

      ‘Can I come too?’ Dannielle pleaded.

      ‘Not tonight, love, it’s adults only, but I’m sure Uncle Barry will pop round and see you again very soon.’

      ‘What you got in this? It weighs a ton,’ Stephanie asked, picking up Wayne’s sports bag.

      Snatching if off Steph, Wayne grinned. ‘You know me, girl, I never travel light. I’ve got me jeans, leather jacket, and all me toiletries in there. I ain’t travelling home stinking tomorrow in dirty clothes, that’s for sure.’

      Throwing her arms around her fastidious fiancés neck, Stephanie hugged him. ‘You’re such a bloody poser, but I do love you, you tart. Have a fab time and please be careful, won’t you? You might trust Uncle You-Know-Who, but I bloody well don’t, and I wouldn’t put it past him to leave you stark-bollock-naked in Scotland somewhere as an act of revenge.’

      Wayne loosened Stephanie’s grip from around his neck. ‘Bye, babe. I’ll be careful, I promise.’

      Marlene Jackman was usually far too concerned about her appearance to ever allow herself to get paralytic. However, after the day she’d had, she decided to make an exception for once. ‘Pour me another brandy, Marge,’ Marlene ordered. She had purchased a litre of Napoleon on the journey home from Bermondsey and had drunk half of it on the District Line train after Barry had ordered her to get out of his car.

      Marge felt dreadfully sorry for her pal. Marlene always kept herself immaculate, but with her mascara all round her face, and her usually perfect blond hair looking like she

      had been dragged through a hedge backwards, Marge thought her friend suddenly looked sixty rather than forty. ‘So why did your Barry chuck you out the car? You haven’t told me that bit yet,’ Marge asked, handing Marlene her drink.

      ‘Because I accused him of murdering Jake. Seems funny how that little cunt was left with the bar and I got sod all, don’t it? I bet Jake had told Barry that when he popped his clogs the club was his, and that’s why the devious little bastard organized a hit on him. He’s a nasty little schemer, Marge – always has been, always will be.’

      ‘So, what did Barry say to you when you accused him? Did he look guilty?’

      ‘He went ballistic and gave me some load of old bollocks about how much he had thought of Jake. He then stopped the car, told me what an awful mother I was, and slung me out. I mean what boy leaves their distressed mother in the middle of nowhere, eh? I didn’t have a clue where I was, and I even had to take me high heels off to walk to the nearest station,’ Marlene said, feeling dreadfully sorry for herself.

      ‘I ain’t sticking up for Barry, Mar, but I honestly can’t believe that he would want Jake dead. I know Barry’s no angel, but he ain’t no cold-blooded murderer either, mate.’

      ‘You don’t fucking know him like I do, Marge. What about when he tried to throttle me, eh? Seconds from death that night I was. Evil little bastard, he is, and I’m sure he’s only staying in England for a while so he can get his revenge on that Wayne and Stephanie. My Barry won’t rest until he’s got his own back, trust me, and it wouldn’t surprise me if that Wayne ends up with a bullet through his bonce an’ all. Capable of anything, that boy is, and how something that awful ever came out of my fanny, I shall never know.’

      Over in a bar in Liverpool Street, Wayne and rest of the lads were in hysterics as Barry told them the story of what had happened at the solicitor’s office earlier.

      ‘So, did your mum actually try to throw the ashes over the people?’ Cooksie asked. He wasn’t quite as bright as the other lads and hadn’t got the gist of story.

      ‘She didn’t just try. She opened the fucking urn and chucked Jake’s remains all over his ex-wife and two daughters. One of the daughters copped it full in the face. “Get Daddy off of me,” she was screaming.’

      ‘That has to be one of the funniest stories I’ve heard in years,’ Wayne said, holding his sides. He had been laughing so much that it had given him a stitch.

      ‘The classic bit for me was when the old Jew-boy of a solicitor read out about me muvver shagging the gardener and the barman. You know when you just want the ground to open up and swallow ya? She must have had more fucking men than I’ve had hot dinners.’

      ‘So, where is she now?’ Wayne asked.

      ‘I dunno. After we left Bermondsey, she got in the motor and started accusing me of murder. She said I organized the hit on Jake because I had a silly row with him just before he died. She reckons I knew that he’d left me the club and I did it in case he changed his will. Pissed, she was. She’d been necking the brandy in the solicitor’s office, so I slung her out the fucking car. I got on well with Jake and I certainly didn’t know anything about him planning to leave me the club.’

      ‘When you going back to Spain, Bal?’ Wayne asked.

      ‘I dunno to be honest. I’ve struck a couple of good business deals while I’ve been over here and, even though I love it in Spain,