The Feud
Authors: Kimberley Chambers
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Contemporary Fiction, #Literary, #Crime Fiction
FEUD
KIMBERLEY
CHAMBERS
preface
publishing
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781409050308
Published by Preface 2010
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Copyright © Kimberley Chambers 2010
Kimberley Chambers has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
First published in Great Britain in 2010 by Preface Publishing 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road London SW1V 2SA
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In memory of Lee Mouser
1962–2002
My daddy told me I never should
Play with the gypsies in the wood
Firstly, I would like to express my gratitude to everybody at Preface and Random House for believing in me and my books. A special mention to all the reps, who have done a wonderful job in getting my name out there.
A big thanks to Tim Bates, who is a great agent and friend and Rosie de Courcy for giving me an opportunity to make something of my life.
As always, I would be lost without my amazing typist, Sue Cox, and a special mention to Trish Scott for her help with technology.
Seeing as the majority of this book is set in the rave year of 1988, I must mention Jenny Munro, Tina Mouser, Sherri Fuller and Tracy Mackness. With the lives we lead back in those days I’m surprised we’re all still alive, let alone still in touch!
And last, but certainly not least, I must acknowledge Chas and Dave. Gutted you split up boys, but your music will live forever!
Summer 1970
As Eddie Mitchell ran his fingers along the side of the baseball bat, he could feel the beads of sweat forming along his forehead. It was one of those muggy days, where flying ants appeared. It was far too hot to be suited and booted and stuck in the back of a Transit van.
Eddie listened intently as his father repeated his instructions. ‘We don’t want an all-out war, so nothing too heavy, boys. This is a little warning for ’em, and if they don’t get the message, then heavy’ll come later.’
As the rest of the family discussed the feud, Eddie sat in silence. In his eyes, the O’Haras had taken a fucking liberty and deserved more than a little warning. For as long as Ed could remember, his dad, Harry, had run the pub protection racket in the East End. No one messed with the Mitchells, no one dared, and then, like an unwanted disease, the O’Haras appeared on the scene and tried to muscle in on their patch. Eddie was the youngest member of the family firm. His dad ran the show, along with his uncle Reg. Then there were Paulie and Ronny, his two elder brothers.
‘You OK, son?’
Smiling with anticipation, Eddie nodded at his father. The O’Haras were a travelling family who had recently
moved to the East End from Cambridgeshire. Eddie hated travellers. In his eyes, they were uncouth, lowlife, inbred scum. In particular, he hated Jimmy O’Hara. He was the strongest of the sons, the loudest, and flash didn’t even begin to describe him.
‘I wanna be the one to take out Jimmy, Dad.’
Harry eyed his son proudly. Even from an early age, Eddie was the one full of promise, and Harry knew without a doubt that one day his youngest child would be head of the family business.
As the Transit van pulled up outside the pub, the Mitchells clutched their weapons.
‘Right, let’s do it,’ Harry said as he sprang from the van.
Barging his brothers and uncle out of the way, Ed followed his father into the boozer. ‘See you? You’re dead, you piss-taking pikey cunt,’ he screamed as he spotted Jimmy O’Hara and lunged towards him.
As the pub erupted into full-scale mayhem, Eddie was grabbed around the neck from behind.
‘Do him, Jimmy, fucking do him!’ he heard a voice shout.
As the knife slid down the left-hand side of his face, Eddie felt anger, not pain. With blood spewing from his face, he went for O’Hara like a rabid Rottweiler.
‘You inbred pikey piece of shit!’ he screamed, as he threw off the geezer behind him and repeatedly thrust the baseball bat against Jimmy O’Hara’s head.
In that moment, Eddie completely lost it, and if his family hadn’t dragged him away, Ed swore he would have committed murder.
Harry, Reg, Paulie and Ronny managed to clump and scare the rest of the O’Haras and, aware that Eddie’s face was almost sliced in two, they quickly bundled him into the back of the Transit van.
‘Let me go back. I’ll kill him, I’ll fucking kill him!’ Eddie screamed.
‘Your face is fucked. We need to get you stitched up, son,’ Harry said seriously.
Ed was seething as he held the side of his face together. He was covered in claret from head to toe. The wound was so deep, it had even soaked through his suit.
Aware that his mouth was full of blood, Ed spat a mouthful onto the floor. As he turned to his father, his expression blackened.
‘I’ll get me own back, Dad, if it’s the last thing I do. Even if the O’Haras lay off our turf, this feud ain’t over. It will never be over between me and Jimmy, not now – not ever.’
1971
Joyce Smith smiled as she carefully lifted her best dinner service out of the box. She rarely used her expensive china, but today was a very special occasion and she was desperate to impress.
As Joyce entered the living room, her smile immediately turned to a frown. That lazy husband of hers was still glued to that filthy, stinking armchair of his. ‘Stanley, get your arse up them stairs and get yourself ready. You haven’t even washed or shaved yet and they’ll be here soon.’
More interested in the 3.45 at Kempton, Stanley leaped up and down. ‘Go on my son, get in there. Go on my son, you can do it!’
As his horse got pipped at the post, Stanley threw the
Sporting Life
up in the air in temper. ‘Stupid, bastard nag!’ he shouted.
Annoyed that her husband was ignoring her orders, Joyce picked up her broom and clumped him on the head with it. Why he betted, she’d never know. He always bloody lost. ‘I won’t tell you again, Stanley. Now get up them bleedin’ stairs and smarten yourself up.’
Stanley knew better than to argue with his wife. She wore the trousers, and he just complied with her orders.
‘Your nice blue shirt and best slacks are hanging on the wardrobe door; put them on,’ Joyce ordered.
‘Anyone would think the Queen Mother was coming for tea,’ Stan replied, as he ran up the stairs.
Picking up the duster and polish, Joyce did her best to tidy his dirty little corner. She had a quick vac round then, to finish, sprayed a whole can of air freshener around the house. That’s better, she thought as she studied her domain.
Joyce was very proud of her three-bedroomed council house. It was situated in a road off Upney Lane, but she always told people that she lived in the upper-class part of Barking. Obviously, she would have liked to have bought a private property in a better area, but on Stan’s bus driver’s wages, that was never going to happen.
A proper little homemaker, Joyce was always buying new ornaments and furniture to tart up her surroundings. Her neighbours all said that she had the poshest house in the street and Joyce loved the compliment. Being known as the posh woman suited her down to the ground.
Stanley mumbled and cursed to himself as he shaved and got changed. Not only was he annoyed with the jockey and nag that had just lost him money, he was also annoyed with his daughter, Jessica, for messing up his usual plans.
Apart from the one in four Saturdays when he had to work, Stanley loved these afternoons. They were like his day out of prison, when he’d escape Joycie’s moaning and spend the whole day in the pub or the bookie’s with his pals. Today, he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. His daughter, Jessica, was bringing this new boyfriend of hers around for tea and Joyce had insisted he stay indoors and play happy families.
Like most dads, Stanley was quite protective of his only daughter. Jessica was only seventeen and still lived
at home with them. Petite and blonde, Jessica was a very pretty girl with a sunny nature. She’d had boyfriends in the past, but there’d been nothing serious until this latest one.
His son, Raymond, was forever bringing different girls home, but Stan wasn’t worried about what he got up to. With Jess it was different. He knew what it was like to be a hormonal young man and he would hate anyone taking advantage of his little girl.
Stan checked his appearance in the mirror. From what Joyce had said, this new boyfriend sounded like a right Flash Harry. Call it father’s intuition, Stanley just knew he wasn’t going to like him very much.
Joyce stared out of the window as she plumped up the cushions. They should be here any minute and she couldn’t wait to meet this Eddie. For the first time in her young life, Jessica had fallen hook, line and sinker and Joyce was ever so pleased for her. Joyce’s own life had always lacked excitement and romance, and she wanted her daughter to have everything she hadn’t. Sometimes she wondered why she’d even married Stan and then she remembered her mother’s harsh words: ‘You’re twenty-two now, Joycie. Look at all your mates, every one of them married. Even that fat Doreen from across the road has found herself a husband. Young Stanley’s from ever such good stock. I know all of his family, even his aunts and uncles. You don’t wanna be left on the shelf, do you now?’