The Hunted. Kerry Barnes

they were all off the rails before they even reached primary school.

      ‘Where’s Paris?’ Harry asked, trying to moderate his angry tone.

      Doris shrugged her shoulders. ‘How would I know? I haven’t seen her in a week. She’s probably staying over with that new fella of hers … Travis, I think his name is.’

      Harry knew that wasn’t the case. He shuddered inside, remembering the picture of Travis in pieces. It wasn’t the bruises that turned his stomach but the fact that it was obvious he’d been gruesomely tortured. The photo on the phone had served as an ominous warning.

      As thick-skinned as he was to violence and life itself, he felt uneasy. Looking back at his brother Vinnie’s feeble attempt at revenge made him want to crucify him. Gutting the dog was pathetic and instantly sent out the wrong message. He should have carved up Stafford, not the mutt: now that would have been a real warning not to mess with the Harmans.

      ‘I’ve made some fairy cakes. Would you like one?’ asked Doris, with a fake smile.

      Harry thought he could see a trace of sarcasm on his mother’s sweet face, but, on reflection, he assumed he was just on edge and angry. ‘No, I need to get hold of Farver and Paris.’

      Doris took her cup and plain cheese sandwich over to the kitchen table and sat herself down. Harry watched her, and for the first time in his life, he noticed how lonely and pitiful she looked as she ate her boring lunch at the Formica tabletop in her plain dress and pinny. The vision of Travis and then this image of innocence, his mother, oblivious to her son’s antics – he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it if the Regans hurt her. She wasn’t like them. ‘Muvver, can you go and stay with your sister for a while?’

      Holding the china teacup in her hand, Doris looked up at her son and just stared.

      Harry was uneasy. ‘It’s just safer for the moment, Muvver.’ He softened his words.

      ‘Have you forgotten, Harry, my sister passed away six months ago? You were all invited to the funeral … but I guess you were too busy to go.’

      Harry swallowed hard. He did remember her mentioning something, and yet he’d forgotten about it. He’d been too busy at the time – although he wouldn’t have gone anyway. He hardly knew his aunt. ‘Well, have ya got a friend you can stay with?’ His guilt now turned to annoyance.

      ‘No, Son, I don’t have any friends because your father put a stop to having any of those! Anyway, why do I need to get away? What trouble are you in now?’ Her tone was bitter.

      ‘Never you mind, Muvver. Just do yourself a favour and get away for a bit.’

      ‘No, Harry.’

      With a deep furrowed frown, Harry glared. ‘Listen, Muvver, I ain’t fucking about. Ya need to get away from the house—’ Before he could finish, Doris jumped up from the table.

      ‘No, Harry! You listen to me for once in your life. I’m sick to the back teeth of being bullied … yes, bullied, by all of you. As for that useless father of yours, I’ve been pushed around by him for far too long, and I will not take it from you too. So, take note, sunshine, I’m not going anywhere. This is my home and not yours, so if anyone is leaving it’s you, Harry. Christ Almighty, I’ve had years of hiding from the aftermath of your troubles or dodging the police. Well, no more!’ She sat back down and took another sip of tea.

      Harry sighed in frustration. Of course, she was right. For the first time in his life, he looked at her for who she really was – a downtrodden, washed-out woman. He pulled a chair out and sat opposite. ‘Muvver, I’ve a flat down the coast. It’s nothing too fancy, but it’s okay. Why don’t I take you there for a short holiday?’ His voice was almost sweet; it was so unlike his usual gruff tone.

      Doris gave him a wry grin. ‘Harry, please stop taking my aloofness as stupidity. I’m fully aware of what you’re up to. Since when did you do charm? If you think offering a trip down to the seaside is doing me a favour, you’re very much mistaken. I know the truth and so do you. Like all of you, if I was to get hurt due to your antics, then none of you would be able to live with yourselves because you would be eaten up with guilt!’ she said, with a raised voice.

      ‘Muvver!’

      ‘No, Harry, just shut up, please! A holiday down the coast? I never even knew you had a holiday home. I haven’t been to the coast in over twenty damned years. You only want me to go now because it suits you. Me, invited to have a break? It’s ridiculous.’

      Those words, coming from the mouth of this mild-mannered lady stunned Harry. And the look in her eyes told him she was not going to put up with him pushing her around. The speed at which he jumped up from the table caused the chair to topple over. Before she’d a chance to say another word, he left, slamming the door behind him.

      The cold stark reality of the present situation made Doris so tearful. Her dear sister’s departure from this life was such a travesty. Doris deeply missed their weekly chats on the phone and the odd weekend trip up to Bath. It shouldn’t be this way; she should have been able to sit and share a pot of tea with her own daughter and chat, but Paris was just like the others – all out for herself. Staring down at the china teacup, she heard nothing but the quiet humming sound of the fridge, her only company. It was a stark contrast to when her kids had lived at home; the constant loud noise had been unbearable. They never spoke – they always shouted.

      Just as she stood up to wash up the cup and plate, the back door burst open and in stormed Paris. Usually, Doris would greet her, offering lunch or a drink, but not today. Today, she wanted nothing more than to be alone and pretend she’d never had a family.

      ‘All right, Muvver?’ she said, as she plonked an oversized bag on the table. ‘I’ve got a few bits that need to be hand-washed. Put the kettle on. I’m fucking parched.’

      Doris ignored her and continued with the washing up.

      Paris rifled through her Louis Vuitton tote bag looking for her phone, still annoyed that Travis hadn’t returned her calls. In among the make-up, hairbrushes, and hairspray, she finally felt the rhinestone-covered phone case and retrieved it from her bag, only to find the battery had died. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ she cursed and dived in again to find the charger. After plugging it in, she returned to her seat and looked over at her mother. ‘Did ya make the tea?’

      Doris untied her pinafore and turned to face her daughter. ‘No, Paris, I didn’t. If you want a cup, then make it yourself.’

      Paris’s heavily made-up face produced a frown that even the Botox couldn’t freeze. ‘What the fuck’s up with you?’

      ‘I’ve had your brother in here demanding I move out for a while, I’ve had your stinking father take my last tenner from my purse yesterday, and now you, expecting your washing done and tea made. Well, you can all go and bugger off. I’m sick of all of you.’

      Her caustic words made Paris gasp. She’d never heard her mother speak with such hostility to her, nor wear that look of spiteful anger. It just wasn’t in her nature.

      Doris glared with tight lips, feeling her blood boiling. Her once sweet little girl was now nothing but a tart. Everything about her was fake, with her ever-changing bleached hair extensions, her oversized lips, and the thick black eyelash extensions, all of which made her look like a transvestite ready for a Las Vegas show. The skintight dress and fake tan would, Doris thought, be fine for the nightclub, but it was midday. Her look was more suitable for streetwalking around King’s Cross, where she would probably make a fortune selling her arse. In fact, Doris wondered if the figure-hugging dress did Paris any favours, particularly as it was bright green and the lumps and bumps made her look like a caterpillar. Still, what did she know about fashion? On balance, the boys seemed to go for her, and she wasn’t short of a fella. Perhaps it was the prodigious fake tits, mused Doris, that distracted anyone from thinking that she looked like a pig in lipstick.

      Paris ignored the outburst and asked, ‘Who wanted you to leave?’

      Doris