TRAPPED (38 page)

‘Clever girl.’ Frankie spoke out loud as he saw a shoe ten metres in front of him. He was certain Gypsy had purposely done that, as the only way she’d part with her Jimmy Choos was if it was a matter of life or death.

Max dragged Gypsy through the trees and out onto the road which he knew would be empty, pushing her forward, one hand still gripped hard over her mouth and the other one twisting her arm behind her back. He didn’t know the forest well enough to hurtle through it with Gypsy in tow. He’d stick to the road and make it back to the car.

‘Gypsy? Gypsy?’

Gypsy could hear Frankie calling her name some way behind, but nevertheless it was his voice. It gave her strength and she tried to wriggle away from Max’s grip, but the sound of Frankie’s voice seemed to have the same effect on Max as his grip became harder, driving her on faster.

Max could see the car ahead and he quickly took a look around. He couldn’t hear them anymore; hopefully he’d lost them. He let go of Gypsy but pointed the gun at her.

‘Get in.’

Gypsy didn’t hesitate; she could see she had no other choice. A second later Max got in and started up the car, putting it in reverse. As Max looked in the driver’s mirror he saw a pair of blue eyes staring back at him – and a moment later he felt a gun in the back of his head, as Maggie sat up properly from the backseat of the car.

‘Hello, Dad. Ain’t this a nice surprise?’

A few moments later the driver’s door opened and Frankie stood glaring at Max. ‘Get out.’

Max didn’t object; it was pointless. He got out slowly with two guns aimed at him. He saw Sheila coming up the road and blew her a kiss, followed by a cruel laugh. He looked at Lorna who was red in the face and smirked, then back to his wife who was supporting Tommy – Max sneered at them all, then turned to Frankie and spoke with a quiet, menacing calm.

‘Come on then, let’s get this over and done with.’

He turned away without giving his family another glance as he was marched into the forest by Frankie.

The single gunshot was heard a mile away, scattering the birds from the trees. Max Donaldson’s reign of terror had finally come to an end.

‘About bleeding time too, you’ve got a daughter to look after.’

The words came from Gypsy’s mouth as her son finally regained consciousness; the tears came from her eyes as she looked at his injured body, and the gentle embrace she gave him, which made Johnny wince with pain but smile at the same time, came from her heart.

‘There’s someone to see you.’

Johnny shifted his gaze to the end of the bed and saw Maggie holding Harley. He looked at Gypsy with a puzzled look; she put her hand on his.

‘It’s fine, I was wrong. A lot’s happened since the last time we spoke. And Johnny; I’m sorry.’

Gypsy got up and kissed Johnny gently on his forehead.

‘I’ll leave you three to it. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’

Maggie approached Johnny and smiled as she spoke.

‘Hello you.’

‘Maggie, I’m sorry …’

‘Don’t tire yourself out trying to talk babe, just listen. I love you, Johnny Taylor, I always have – and I don’t want you to have to say sorry anymore. None of us are without blame. I don’t want to look back now, only forward. I want us to have a future together, all three of us to be a proper family … if, of course, that’s what you want.’

Johnny gave Maggie a dazzling smile.

‘
If
it’s what I want? That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Mags. I just messed up a bit trying to show it … but what about …’

Maggie shook her head.

‘Like your mum said, you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’

Johnny reached out to touch Maggie and Harley who both took his hand and squeezed it.

‘Maggie? Marry me.’

‘I’m already married to you silly.’

‘No, I want to marry you again, only this time let’s do it properly. With both our families there. Give you the wedding you deserve. Harley can be bridesmaid. What do you say?’

Maggie’s blue eyes sparkled as she answered.

‘I say yes. Yes, Johnny. Yes.’

‘You help her, I can’t. She won’t listen to anything I have to say, she’s driving me potty.’

Tommy raised his arms in the air in exasperation and grinned at Frankie, tapping him on his back encouragingly as he left the room.

‘Bleeding hell, Frank, where’ve you been? Have you seen the time? It’s pointless you wearing that fancy watch of yours for all the good it does. A man running backwards would be quicker than you.’

‘Lorn, I’ve things to do you know, clubs to run, money to make.’

‘Stop your moaning, Frank, and give us a hand. Any more of your chatter and we’ll have to add another month to the year. I don’t know why you bothered employing that Tommy, he’s worse than useless in putting up curtains. Careful of my wallpaper with that bed, I don’t want it marking. It’s a bedroom not a homework book.’

With a deep breath, Frankie helped Lorna move the bed for what must have been the tenth time that day as she searched for the perfect position for it in her new room – and it’d all been Gypsy’s idea.

‘Ask her to move in, Frank.’

He’d looked at his wife incredulously. ‘Even after everything she did to you? To us?’

‘Even after everything she did, Frank, you should still ask her.’

‘But …?’

‘There’s been enough hurt, Frank; I ain’t going to cause more by sending Lorna away. I ain’t doing that to her. We’ve all had our lessons to learn and I reckon she’s learnt hers. We all need someone to love us. We all need our family.’

‘So does that mean you’ll be coming back home? You can’t leave me on my own with her, she’ll have me tearing me bleeding hair out and not only that … I miss you.’

‘You’ll be fine Frank.’

Gypsy had taken a lot of her clothes, going to stay in a hotel and keeping her distance ever since. Frankie felt lost. Without Gypsy by his side it was as if some part of him was missing.

In the past two months a lot of things had changed. The doctors had said Johnny would make a full recovery and when he’d heard the news, he’d cried and hadn’t been ashamed to. He’d also employed Tommy Donaldson to be his right hand man, as a favour to Gypsy.

Tommy no longer wanted to continue with Max’s business, unhappy at screwing people over for money, but wanted to support his family. The way Frankie saw it, the Donaldsons had in a way become his family as well so he’d been happy to help Tommy, always indebted for what he did for Gypsy and Johnny. He respected a man who wanted to look after his family and in a way saw some of himself in Tommy.

They’d both gone around to all the people who owed Max money and explained that their debts were written off. Strangely, seeing the relief on the people’s faces had made Frankie feel good.

Tommy had surprised him. Almost overnight, he’d begun to
come out of his shell, showing himself to be a funny, sensitive, caring man. Frankie liked him. He also liked the way Tommy not only spent time with his mother each day, but how he also popped in daily to see Gypsy at the hotel as well. It was clear that family meant everything to the lad but he’d just never been given the opportunity to demonstrate it before.

The best bit of all to come out of all the chaos was Harley,
his granddaughter. From the first time Maggie had brought her
round and Harley had cautiously climbed up to sit on his knee, he’d fallen in love with her. Almost there and then he’d ordered his men to sort out getting one of the bedrooms in
the house turned into a pink palace so that Harley could have
her own room and stay as often as she liked. And when the little girl wasn’t staying at his house with Maggie, he missed her like she’d always been a part of his life.

The business with Max was sorted and it’d been relatively easy. He’d taken him into the forest but had made Maggie turn back. She didn’t need to see her father’s brains blown out; she’d been through enough. Before he’d pulled the trigger Max had shown no remorse.

‘Gypsy. She squealed like a pig, Frank, when I …’

He’d put the bullet in Max’s head then. He hadn’t wanted to hear anymore. He hadn’t wanted to know how his wife had suffered, not from him anyway. Not from the man who’d caused the pain.

He’d called his men, who’d disposed of the body in Epping Forest, ironically alongside the other gangland faces that Max had buried in the past.

‘A penny for them, no let’s make it a monkey. A monkey for your thoughts?’

Frankie turned around and saw Gypsy standing behind him. He grinned as he saw the suitcase next to her, but he spoke cautiously.

‘Hello, Gyps.’

‘Alright, Frank.’

‘Are … are you here to stay?’

Gypsy smiled and watched Lorna muttering away as she fussed over the position of the pillows on the bed. She gestured with her head towards her sister-in-law.

‘Well how can I leave you on your own with her? We can’t have you pulling your hair out; bald men ain’t really my thing.’

Sheila Donaldson sat in her front room, enjoying the peaceful stillness. Frankie had sent some decorators around to do the whole house up. Now it no longer held the yellowing gloom of yesteryear and memories of Max. It was light and bright and, for the first time, it felt like a proper home.

She smiled to herself as she looked at the photo of Tommy, Nicky, Harley and Maggie sitting on top of the television. She’d insisted on getting one done and they’d had it taken last week. It was the first family photo she’d ever had of her kids and when she looked at it she didn’t look at their faces, she looked at their eyes. And in their eyes she could see what had always been missing in them; happiness.

‘You want me to read to you, Nick?’ Saucers smiled at Nicky as she held his hand in the day room and he nodded. He’d been out of hospital for a month but had gone straight from hospital into rehab, paid for by Frankie. Nicky hadn’t objected; he wanted to get better.

The rehab centre was in a tiny village in Oxfordshire. Frankie had got Saucers a hotel to stay in for the whole of Nicky’s treatment programme so she could visit him every day. She’d been so grateful and hadn’t quite known how to thank Frankie, but he’d just waved his hand at her and winked.

Each weekend the whole Donaldson and Taylor families descended on the small village in Oxfordshire; taking family photos and bringing tales of Soho for Nicky and Saucers. Rallying around in support.

The bond of love running through the two families touched Saucers. It was the first time she’d been part of something so special. And the Donaldsons and the Taylors were certainly special.

Saucers, about to read to Nicky, smiled to herself as she looked down at the book, catching a glimpse of the tinfoil engagement ring Nicky had given her last week when he’d proposed.

‘Ready?’

Nicky nodded and kept hold of Saucers’ hand as he closed his eyes and listened to her read.

‘
A glooming peace this morning with it brings;

The sun for sorrow will not show his head.

Go hence to have more talk of these sad things

For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo
.’

Jacqui Rose is a novelist who now lives in London, although she hails from South Yorkshire. She has always written for pleasure but the inspiration for her novels comes from her own experience. Her debut novel,
Taken
, was a Kindle
bestseller
.

For more information about Jacqui ple
ase visi
t www.jacquirose.com or follow her on Twitter @JacPereirauk

Read on for an exclusive extract from Jacqui’s next novel,
Dishonour
, published by Avon in August 2013 …

Laila Khan opened her mouth and screamed, although it wasn’t the sound of her cry which echoed around the room, it was the sound of the slap against her cheek. For Laila, the burning pain on the side of her face was a welcome distraction to what her uncle had just angrily told her.

This was a moment she knew she’d never forget. Unlike so many other experiences in her life which blurred and faded with the passage of time, Laila was certain only death would erase today.

Exhausted, she sat down, looking around her tiny bedroom, taking in every detail. Acutely aware she was making a mental picture for herself, knowing nothing would ever look the same to her again.

The yellow flowered wallpaper she’d hated from the star
t. The red
wall clock her brother had given her last year. The vast array of thimbles she’d been collecting since she was a child, lined up neatly as usual on the shelf above her bed, and the box of aluminium cooking pots her mother insisted on storing in her room. Everything she knew was in this room; was in this house. This was where she came from. A small red-bricked terraced house in a nondescript street in the Horton area of Bradford.

But as Laila looked at her family, standing watching in reproachful silence with her mother’s face lined with disapproval and her uncle rubbing his hand, it was as if Laila could see a door opening, leading her out of the life she knew to take her into another, darker, more foreboding one.

Laila’s eyes darted around the room in panic before they were drawn to a large black fly landing on the maths homework she was supposed to have handed in last week. She watched, fascinated, as it seemed to stare back at her as intently as she was staring at it. The sudden movement of the curtain swaying in the warm summer breeze was enough for the fly to abandon the red tattered textbooks, but Laila continued to stare. Unable to move. Unable to fly away.

Trance-like she sat on her bed until her vision was clouded by the welling of her pricking tears. She bowed her head, wanting to keep her composure now. Closing her eyes, she sat motionless, almost forgetting to breathe.

The aromatic smells from the palak chicken and rice cooking downstairs began to overwhelm her senses as the pungent spices wafted into the stifling room. Snapping open her eyes, Laila jerked her body up as a wave of nausea hit her. She managed to reach as far as the door before she hunched over to empty the contents of her stomach into the overflowing paper bin in the corner of her room.