Until a police officer put a calm, steady hand on his shoulder.
Chapter Fifty-seven
Spring, 2008
“You sure that this is the one?” Ronnie asked, peering over the steering wheel of the car at the tall, dirty-brick house that was wedged comfortably between two others just like it. The brick and stone of the stairs leading up to it was crumbling away and smothered in a layer of cobwebs from years of neglect.
“I’m certain,” smiled Minnie, grimly, turning to her husband and placing her hand on top of his knuckle. They shared a look of mixed excitement and nerves, him nibbling anxiously on his lower lip, whilst she tightened her grip on his hand as though they were waiting for the drop on a fairground ride.
A car sped down the road alongside where they were parked, hurtling loudly down the often deserted country road, kicking up clouds of dust beneath its tyres.
“How’re you feeling?” Minnie then asked, turning to look at the back seat where three children were sitting, their bodies upright, ready to spring into action at their parents’ command.
Zach, the oldest at eight years, held his baby brother’s pudgy hand and forced his fat little thumb into position to indicate a thumbs up. He grinned that irresistibly cheeky smile that Minnie knew would be the cause of many broken hearts someday. Lloyd, the baby, was a bruiser and already resembled a miniature thug with his bald head and chunky limbs, even with a dummy in his mouth. Sitting beside her brothers, Stella kicked her legs enthusiastically, her pretty blue eyes twinkling with delight. Although all three children had been raised from birth to help out with their parents’ scams, the art of committing crimes sewn into the very fabric of their existences, there was something about this job that was different.
Something about this job was special.
And while all three Garnet children were too young to fully understand why it was such an important task at hand, they still somehow understood how much it meant to their mother and father.
They were going to do their parents proud.
“Can we go now?” Stella asked delightedly, barely able to sit still in her seat.
*
Norah Jenkins frowned as her deep brown eyes flicked up and down the crumpled shopping list. Her neat, handwritten scrawl clearly indicated that they’d needed milk- semi-skimmed. She’d even underlined the word in green pen. Groaning, she lowered the list onto the kitchen counter and stared dismally at the blue-top bottle of milk sitting on the table, just staring at her proudly.
“For God’s sake, Norm,” she shouted, screwing up her wrinkled face.
Although, she told herself when she got no reply, she shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, her younger brother had been nothing but a pain in the arse her entire life. And for the last nine years, the problems he caused her had been amplified ten-fold because she’d had no option but to become his full-time carer.
“Norm!” she snapped again, rubbing her forehead as she shuffled out of the kitchen and into the hallway. She ducked her head into the archway that led into the living room and tutted loudly as she saw the ugly, deformed mound where what was left of his hair had once been. As always, he was sitting in his armchair with a face like thunder, his one barely-functioning eye glued to the television set. “For god’s sake. You have one job. Do the daily milk run.”
Norman Jenkins glared at her. Still, even almost a decade later, when Norm pulled certain faces, he was beyond hideous. Not just hideous, but downright terrifying. Norah had seen the horrific scars, the sunken collapsed hollows of his broken face, and every other brutal wound he’d endured from that night, but she could still not get used to it.
He still scared her.
Before Norah could decide whether or not to press the matter further, the loud, old-fashioned doorbell chimed.
It startled her.
People didn’t often come around.
“This isn’t over,” she grumbled at her brother before shuffling back down the remainder of the hallway towards the front door. Through the foggy glass panels of the front door, sunlight streamed in and projected two narrow illuminated strips onto the stretch of tattered carpet. As the old woman came closer, she squinted as she made out an unfamiliar silhouette moving behind the glass.
Norah blinked, surprised to see the unfamiliar outline of what appeared to be a child standing there on the doorstep. Two, in fact. Honestly, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even seen a kid. She rarely left the house, and nobody ever visited. All the neighbours were old, decrepit recluses, just like she and Norman had rapidly become since the accident. The stress and trauma of which seemed to have aged them both twenty years overnight.
Her face pointed with curiosity; she reached out a hand for the doorknob and turned, pulling it towards her. As the latch released, the sweet, spring air from outside flooded in, its smooth kiss refreshing on the skin of her creased and weathered face.
Again, she blinked, sunlight stinging her eyes.
“Oh, thank goodness!” the high ring of a little girl’s voice. Instinctively, Norah shielded her eyes with her hand, blocking the rays of the sun so that she could inspect her unexpected callers. She was, Norah immediately noted, a pretty, dainty little thing. Blonde hair and a flawless, fair complexion, with a heart-shaped face and eyes that were like electric. Silly as it was, Norah found herself feeling jealous of the little girl. She herself had never been the beautiful type. She and Norm had not been particularly lucky in the genetics department.
“So sorry to bother you,” the boy said, standing just a little bit taller than the girl. “Me and my siblings are lost.” He gestured to the baby he carried in his arms.
The children spoke with posh, well-articulated voices that screamed
