The Hunted. Kerry Barnes

ruin her very sexy body. Yet as soon as her son was born, she saw the end of the flash socializing and all the attention that had been focused on her.

      Mike had taken a new stance on life. At last, he was settling down. The trips to their villa in Spain were spent building sandcastles and going out on their boat; he was totally absorbed in their son. The neglect, as she saw it, turned to resentment, and so she began to despise the boy. He looked at her with either sorrow or hatred, but either expression grated on her. Those sweet words that Mike had said to her before the birth were now reserved for their son, and the truth be known, she was jealous and did everything to draw her husband’s interest back to her.

      It started with the boob job because she caught him looking at a woman with bigger tits than hers. Then she turned her attention to her lips because she assumed he liked that sort of thing. However, all the trips to the beauty salon for Botox and fillers made not one iota of difference: he only had eyes for his boy. When the parties at their home became tame, she tried to liven them up by making cocktails and encouraging the men to drink. But when she downed a few herself, that just infuriated Mike, and so he put a stop to those too.

      So now she saw herself drowning in a humdrum way of life. And her wild behaviour became a major source of friction between Mike and herself. His sharp digs irritated her. ‘How fucking old are ya?’ he would say, or ‘Grow the fuck up and be a mother. You ain’t on Jeremy fucking Kyle.’

      If only he knew how much she wanted out of this prison called adulthood. It was purgatory for a young hot-blooded woman like her, who craved sex and a heady lifestyle. For Christ’s sake, she was only fucking twenty-six.

      Just as she was about to reach for another hidden bottle of vodka, the doorbell rang. Without looking through the spyhole, she opened the door. It was Tracey, Eric’s girlfriend.

      ‘Cor, Jackie, the state of ya face. What’s ’appened?’ asked Tracey, following Jackie into the kitchen. Plonking her new Gucci bag on the floor, Tracey clambered up onto the bar-stool, preparing herself for the gossip.

      ‘That bastard up there, clumped me one last night.’ She tried to force a tear; at least she could expect some sympathy from her sister-in-law-to-be.

      Tracey looked as made-up and fake as Jackie. Perhaps more so. She’d also undergone the boob job, hair extensions, and lip fillers. And yet, unlike Mike, Eric preferred his birds tanned and toned. She flicked her long bleached mane over her shoulder, placed her hands on the granite worktop, showing off her fake fingernails, and gazed down with pride at the tiny crystals she’d recently had glued on. ‘So, what’s ’appened then, Jack?’

      Jackie poured them both a drink and sniffed back the fake tear. ‘I dunno, Trace. He ain’t the same. I reckon he’s got another bird. Ya know what it’s like. Fucking give ’em a kid and then they ’ave ya tied down and go off looking for a fresh bit of skirt.’

      Tracey sipped the bitter vodka and poured more orange juice to dilute the rough taste. ‘Oh, I dunno, Jackie. Mike ain’t like that. He’s probably got a lot on his mind.’

      Jackie gave her an evil glare. ‘And how the fuck would you know, Tracey?’

      She was annoyed that her so-called friend was now sticking up for the enemy, as she saw him.

      ‘Oh, come on, Jackie. We all know what his line of work is! Perhaps he’s having a bit of bother.’

      With a screwed-up face, Jackie spat back, ‘Who cares about his business! Look at me bleedin’ face. I didn’t do that meself, did I?’

      Tracey raised her eyebrow as if to say ‘Who knows?’

      ‘What? D’ya think I’m lying, then?’

      ‘Wind ya neck in, Jack. We all know you like a drink. I’ve seen you so outta ya nut, you’ve fallen all over the show.’

      Jackie shot her jaw forward in anger. ‘Don’t come it, Tracey. I know your game. Ya come in ’ere all done up, with ya tits hanging out and half ya arse showing. Hoping I wasn’t in, were ya?’

      Tracey slammed the glass down, nearly shattering it. ‘Now, you listen, Jackie. I didn’t come ’ere to bloody row, and I don’t like what you’re saying. But I’ll not be surprised if he does go elsewhere. I mean, look at the state of ya. And, Jackie, you’re hardly Mother Teresa. He ain’t blind, love.’

      Those words were like a red rag to a bull. Jackie launched herself off the bar-stool, and on her way to taking Tracey down, she managed to snatch a clump of her hair, pulling her heavily to the floor. Tracey yelped like an injured dog. She had hit her knee hard and was in absolute agony. Her friend’s shrieks of pain brought Jackie back to reality. But before she had a chance to say she was sorry, Tracey pushed her away. Grabbing her bag and hobbling towards the door in her noisy stiletto shoes, she shot Jackie an evil glare.

      ‘Fucking bad move, bitch,’ she growled.

      The door slammed shut and the silence left a buzzing in Jackie’s ear. ‘Cunt,’ she mumbled to herself once more. She’d done it again, and this time she’d pissed off Tracey, her sidekick. She stared at the clump of hair on the floor and felt sick. Yet more disturbing was the threatening tone in Tracey’s voice. Holding the bottle of vodka over the sink, she attempted to pour the last of the evil liquid away, but her hands shook so violently, she just couldn’t do it. Instead, she poured it neat down her throat and swanned out to the garden to soak up the sun.

      * * *

      By the time Mike had got up from his bed, it was four o’clock in the afternoon. He pulled back the curtains and looked at his wife sprawled out on a sunlounger in the hot sun. He shook his head and thought about Ricky. He would be home from school any minute and would have to face a drunken mother with no cupcakes and sweet words, just drivel and sarcasm. Once he was showered and had climbed into his tracksuit, he went downstairs.

      He found Ricky in the lounge, still in his uniform, and Sacha sitting there, looking all forlorn.

      ‘Dad!’ screeched Ricky, as he leaped from the floor and ran into his father’s arms. Sacha gave him a half-smile and stood up to make her exit.

      ‘I’m sorry, Mike. You know I love Ricky, don’t you?’

      Mike held his son, stroking his back, as his son nestled into his neck. ‘I know, Sacha. Don’t worry, I’ll sort something. You’ve been good to me and Ricky and I won’t forget it. ’Ere, take this.’ He pulled a wad of fifties from his tracksuit bottoms. ‘Take yaself on holiday.’

      Sacha looked at him open-mouthed. ‘I can’t take all that.’

      Mike’s eyes softened.

      ‘Babe, call it compensation.’

      ‘Thank you, Mike.’

      He winked and nodded. ‘Don’t worry, Sach. I’ll take care of Ricky. That heartless sket won’t be left alone with him, not if I can help it.’ He put Ricky back on the floor and patted his backside. ‘Go on, Ricky. You get on with your homework.’

      He headed to the kitchen with Sacha on his heels. ‘I’m gonna put her in a rehab place, and if she refuses, then she can fuck off. I ain’t messing around anymore. She might be my wife, but Ricky is my son, and he comes first. It’s a mighty shame she doesn’t see it that way. Anyway, you get yourself off home and don’t be worrying.’

      Sacha stared out into the garden and noticed Jackie burning up from the sun. ‘Er, do you think you should get her in? Christ, she looks like a beetroot.’

      Mike chuckled. ‘Nah, let her fry. It’ll give her something else to whine about. Jesus, she’s one ugly mare. Ya know, she was a good-looking kid a few years ago, but now look at her. She’d give Jackie Stallone a run for her money.’

      Sacha laughed. ‘Oh, Mike, come on. She don’t look that bad. She’s fashionably attractive.’

      Mike looked away. ‘Not my thing, I’m afraid.’

      Sacha felt awkward: