Blood Ties: Family is not always a place of safety

But Terry’s expression when he turned around was serious, and she wondered what on earth he could want her for. She hoped he wasn’t after a sub because Irene had made it clear that they weren’t lending any more money out to the punters. Not until some debts had been repaid, at least. But not from him. And she doubted it would be that, in any case. He might not dress up much but Kathleen had a hunch that was because he didn’t want to. Not because he was on his uppers. He had a solid, full-time and doubtless well-paid job. He ran a Cortina, as well as the juggernauts he drove.

Maybe he had a message from her Auntie Sally, then. She’d like that. But then he’d be smiling, wouldn’t he? And he wasn’t.

At least she was no longer blushing. ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘What is it you wanted to talk to me about?’

Again, he looked awkward. ‘Well, I don’t know if I should be telling you this,’ he said, ‘but it’s about your Darren.’

Kathleen felt her heart sink. She should have guessed. Her bloody stepbrother! Did he have any shame at all? Pound to a penny he owed Terry money. She pulled a face, waiting for the inevitable. Darren really needed to sort himself out! ‘Go on, then,’ she said. ‘What’s he done now?’

Terry stared at Kathleen for a long moment, as though he wasn’t sure how to start. For so long that she had to drag her eyes away. ‘Well, I might as well just come out and say it,’ he told her finally. ‘After all, it’s no secret he’s got gambling fever, is it? Thing is, Kathy, I think he might be getting in over his head.’

The blush returned with a vengeance. Terry was the only person since her mum had died who had ever called her Kathy. She wondered if he even realised. Probably not. She waited for him to continue.

‘Only I’ve been hearing tales, love,’ he said gently. ‘Serious shit, actually.’ He lowered his voice and glanced behind her. ‘I think he must be planning a robbery or something. He’s been trying to get hold of a gun.’

‘What?’ Kathleen was confused now. A gun? Their Darren? She shook her head. ‘You must have that wrong, Terry. Surely. Our Darren is a prat but he’s no need to go out robbing. He gets all he wants from bloody Irene! You know that. Everybody knows that. A gun?’

Terry shook his head and she could see how troubled he obviously felt. He meant it. He might be wrong, but he meant it. ‘I’m not mistaken, Kathy,’ he told her, as if reading her mind. ‘He’s definitely been asking about where he can get hold of one. I’ve been told by more than one person. So it’s either a robbery …’ He paused. ‘Or he needs it for protection. Either way, he’s getting himself involved with some bad people.’ He touched her wrist. ‘Love, I’m telling you because you need to warn him.’

The rest of the shift passed as quickly as the first half had dragged, Kathleen’s mind in a whirl, trying to process what Terry had told her. Trying to fathom what her stepbrother could possibly want a gun for, trying not to think about quite how much money trouble he might be in. It must be bad – Terry was right; he had gambling fever pretty badly. But was it that much worse? How much did he owe that he couldn’t get it from his mam? Where Darren was concerned she’d do anything … But then she wasn’t made of money, was she? So could it be true? That he was getting a gun so he could go and rob someone at gunpoint? Or getting it for someone else? Who were these bad people Terry was talking about? Did he know them?

She wished she’d asked him. And protection. What was that all about? Did that mean he owed money to the sort of people who might hurt him? Because there was no doubt his addiction had been steadily getting worse, so much so that perhaps he’d been driven to borrowing from people he’d no business going near. And struggling to pay them off? These days he never had a penny to call his own and he was bleeding her dad and Irene of the pub’s takings most weeks.

So what should she do? The idea of facing Darren himself seemed impossible. He’d just tell her to bugger off and mind her business. She knew he would. So perhaps she should tell her dad and Irene what Terry had told her, and let them deal with it. Her dad would surely know what to do.

But would he? And what about Irene? She could imagine it all too well. The very idea of her passing on anything negative about her golden boy was unthinkable. She’d probably slap her halfway across the room. And if she just told her dad … well, then he’d have to tell Irene anyway.

No, on balance, she decided, as she hung up the last beer towel, and made her way back upstairs, she’d have to be brave and tackle Darren himself, when he got home from work. But Darren? A gun? Even the word felt unreal. Perhaps Terry had got it all wrong. She hoped so.

Chapter 4 (#u73595e65-dd51-52c3-b66d-19de06eedf6d)

It was the following day, Thursday, before Kathleen managed to get Darren by himself, the weight of what she’d learned pressing down on her in the meantime, always inching into her thoughts. And nothing she heard in the interim had put her mind at rest. The night before, he’d been home late from work, and she’d heard him telling Irene that he’d been made to do some overtime – some nonsense about someone having called in sick. And she’d known it was nonsense because she’d already heard from one of the customers that he’d been down the bookies trying to borrow money to put on the horses.

So she’d chosen to stay silent, for that night at least, because his foul mood had made it obvious that whatever he’d borrowed he’d lost, all adding fuel to the fire that didn’t even need any stoking – was Terry right? Was he already in dangerously deep? Was he trying to gamble his way into amassing cash to pay back a previous gambling loan?

Mary hadn’t turned into work again which meant that Kathleen was back on the bar at lunchtime, and just before closing in he walked, surprising her.

She tried to gauge his mood as he wove his way round the chairs and tables. Was he happy? So-so? He certainly wasn’t scowling. Which was what decided her. Perhaps this would be her moment.

‘Alright, Kath?’ he said, smiling as he walked behind the bar. He picked up a pint glass. ‘Am I in time for a quick drink?’

Kathleen returned his smile. ‘Course you are,’ she said, stepping aside so he could get to the pumps. ‘What are you doing back so early anyway?’ she asked him. ‘I thought you didn’t finish till five.’

Darren poured himself a lager and returned to the other side of the bar, where he pulled up a stool and sat on it. ‘They owed me a day’s holiday,’ he said, once he’d taken an inch off his beer. ‘And after the shitty day I had on the gee gees yesterday, and the sun being out like it is, I thought why not?’ He leaned towards her. ‘Good thing I did, too. I just won twenty quid. But don’t you dare tell my mam, okay? She’ll be in my pockets for it quicker than the frigging artful dodger!’

He laughed, and Kathleen felt the anxiety inside her ease a little as she picked up a cloth to clean the tables in the bar. It was always better when Darren won. It was like a light turned on inside him. He was like a different person when he had a few quid in winnings in his pocket. Generous, too. She knew she’d only have to ask if she needed something and he’d give her it, no question. She went around the bar to start the cleaning. ‘Don’t worry, Daz,’ she told him. ‘You know better than that. I won’t be telling my wicked stepmother anything.’

Darren laughed again, and she wondered if now was her moment. When he was like this he was always happy to take the mickey out of his mam with her, often mimicking her voice to make the punters laugh. There were just two left today, however, over in the far corner, and seeing her come round, they drained the last of their drinks, and headed out into the foyer with a nod.

She followed them out, so she could bolt the front doors behind her. Now was the moment, with them alone, and Darren only halfway through his pint. Now or never. She cleared her throat as she went back in.

‘Daz, you know Terry – Terry Harris?’ she asked him. ‘Uncle Ronnie’s friend?’ He had his back to her and she waited for him to turn around before continuing. ‘Well he was in yesterday,’ she went on, grabbing the punters’ empty glasses. ‘And he said something really strange to me. Something about you.’

Darren grinned at her. ‘Well? Spit it out then, kid. Go on …’ he seemed relaxed about it. ‘What am I supposed to have done now, then?’

‘It’s probably just gossip,’ Kathleen said quickly. ‘But, well, he said …’

‘Yes, he said …’

‘Well, he said there’d been some talk about you asking around for a gun. What’s he on about?’ She put the pint glasses down on the bar.

The change in Darren’s expression was instantaneous. His eyes narrowed and – was she imagining it? She didn’t think so – all the colour seemed to drain out of his face. He’d drained his pint while she’d been speaking and now he slammed the glass down on the bar. Then he raised a finger and jabbed it towards her, the ready smile long gone.

‘You better not repeat that to anyone, Kathleen, do you hear me?’

‘I wasn’t saying I was –’

‘Not a word, you hear? You hear me? God, I am that fucking sick of all the gobby twats in this pub! Not a word, do you hear?’

‘Not a word!’ she parroted back at him, his threatening tone – he’d stood up now – making her take a step back. But she couldn’t just leave it. ‘So it’s true then?’ she carried on, almost in a whisper. ‘Darren, have you been asking to buy a gun? Why?’

Her stepbrother grabbed her by the shoulders, hard, his fingers digging in. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so angry – so properly angry, not the half-pretend ranting he did whenever Irene really got on his nerves. That was for effect. This wasn’t. He meant it.

He looked straight into her eyes, the blue of his own like ice. ‘I’m warning you, Kathleen. You need to mind your own business about this and keep your trap shut. You need to button it. What I do is nothing to do with Terry Harris, you hear me? Or you, or any fucker else. Now I mean it, I don’t want to hear another word about it, and if anyone else cares to mouth off about me, you just send them my way, alright? Terry fucking Harris! Who the hell does he think he is?’

Kathleen nodded vigorously, feeling even more frightened now. She had never seen Darren this angry. He was usually so laid back and unruffled by anything. What on earth had he got himself involved with? Who on earth, more to the point? ‘I promise, Daz, I won’t say anything,’ she tried to reassure him. He let her go. ‘I just thought I should tell you, that’s all. I didn’t mean to make trouble. I was just worried about you. That you’re not in trouble, that was all.’

He exhaled, tugged his jacket straight. Patted her shoulder, almost warmly. ‘Good lass,’ he said finally, as if having satisfied himself about her. ‘Keep this between you and me, our kid, eh? Okay? And stop taking notice of idle gossip from folk who know nowt about nowt. Now, let’s forget about it, eh? How about me and you sneak another quick half before your dad comes down, eh?’

Shaken as much by the turnaround in his mood as his failure to deny it, Kathleen quickly pulled two halves of lager. She’d never normally drink in the daytime – she didn’t drink hardly at all, really. Barely even at the weekend, let alone on a weekday. But she knew her stepbrother was hiding something, and that, whatever it was, it was serious. She needed something to settle the butterflies in her stomach.

John came in just as they finished them, having settled into silence, her clearing up and wiping, Darren staring straight ahead. Thinking what? She wondered. Thinking what?

‘Alright love?’ asked her dad. She hoped he couldn’t see she wasn’t. ‘You look nice, Dad,’ she said, trying to cover her own anxiety. And he did. He always did at this time in the evening. Tall, slim and handsome, in his nice suit and tie. Making an effort, as he always did, for the customers.

He patted Darren’s arm as he passed him. ‘Terry Harris?’ he said lightly. ‘What’s he been doing to get you niggled?’

So he’d heard them talking. Must have popped down to the cellar first and heard Darren raising his voice. Kathleen shot a look in Darren’s direction, but he wasn’t looking at her.

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ he said breezily. ‘Just giving our Kathleen some advice. I was just telling her’ – now he glanced at her – ‘pick on someone your own age. What is he – thirty-two? Thirty-three? Much too old for her to be sniffing around with that daft look on her face.’

Kathleen felt her cheeks begin to flush. She didn’t know where to look, let alone what to say.

Her father looked at her. ‘Terry Harris? You sweet on Terry Harris?’

The answer came quickly, automatically, out of anger more than anything. It might have been quick thinking but it was too bloody quick! And way too close to the mark for comfort. Darren had actually noticed that? When? How?

But perhaps he was just thinking on his feet. That wouldn’t be unusual. ‘No, I am not sweet on Terry Harris,’ she snapped, bridling genuinely as she said it. ‘We were just chatting about Auntie Sally. Which’ – she glared at Darren – ‘is allowed. He is best friends with Uncle Ronnie, or had you forgotten that?’