Page 22 of The Reaper
The thought that she might made me grow even more irritable. How could one person have such an effect on me in such a short space of time? It didn’t make sense.
By the time the weekend came around, I felt a little reluctant to pay my weekly visit to my mother. I didn’t mind popping in to check on her, but she always insisted on a Saturday afternoon family lunch together, and knowing she didn’t have much going on in her life, I always felt compelled to show up. I couldn’t let her down, no matter how I felt about it. In my life, I did what I wanted, I answered to no one. But when it came to my mother, I had to make allowances. Plus, I got to see my sister, Brooke, so it wasn’t all bad.
In all honesty, I didn’t mind taking time out to be with them both; it was the other guest that I wanted to avoid. The one who made me want to cut my own ears off so that I didn’t have to listen to her.
Stella Shaw.
Vinnie’s mother.
My mum always insisted that she came around. She was part of the family, Brooke’s grandma, and at times when we were all together, Mum would try to pass her off as mine too. She’d even try to get me to refer to her as gran, but she was no relative of mine. And she hated me as much as I hated her.
As I walked through the door of the home that held memories I didn’t want to remember, I could smell my mum’s home-cooked roast dinner. Brooke came bounding down the stairs like a Labrador, golden hair flying everywhere and a smile as wide as the Thames to greet me.
“Dev!” she sang, jumping at me and giving me a bear hug.
I loved my little sister. She might have Shaw blood running through her veins, but her heart was all Brady. I’d done a good job at protecting her. He never got a chance to taint her with his darkness. I made damn sure of that.
I pretended to squirm out of her hold, but I couldn’t stop myself from placing a kiss on the top of her head. I reached into my jacket pocket and took out the little black box I’d bought for her and held it in the palm of my hand. She picked it up with a wicked grin on her face and opened it. The way her eyes shone made it worth every penny.
“You got me the firefly this week.” She gasped. “It’s even better than the moon and stars one you bought last week.”
Brooke was collecting charms for her bracelet, and every week I got her a new one to add to her collection.
“You’ll need a new bracelet soon for all these charms you’re getting,” my mum added, coming up behind her. “Hello, love. Have you had a good week?” She kissed me on the cheek, and I hugged her.
“I’m good, Mum. Work’s been busy. Can’t complain.”
As I handed my mum the envelope of cash I always gave her, I heard the familiar sound of scoffing coming from the living room, and I grinned to myself. She could sit there and scowl all she wanted; I’d gotten the last laugh. I was still here.
Mum took the envelope, gave me a knowing smile and patted me on the back as we sauntered into the lounge to join Stella.
“You’re a good boy,” Mum said, and Stella rolled her eyes. If she saw it, my mum never let on.
“Stella.” I said her name in greeting, and an icy smile was thrown back in response.
“Devon.” She threw my name out with as much enthusiasm as she felt, which was none. “Where’smygift?” she asked, knowing full well there wasn’t one. She didn’t expect one either, but she liked fucking with me in front of my family.
“I left it back at home. I couldn’t fit a ducking stool in the back of my car.”
She laughed, but she understood the veiled insult behind my comment. Well, maybe not so veiled if you knew what I was referring to, which she did. This was how we tolerated each other; innuendo, sarcasm, and when my mum and Brooke weren’t around, pure unadulterated hatred.
“Why did you buy Gran a stool?” Brooke asked, wrinkling her nose. “You’re weird sometimes.”
“He hasn’t,” Stella replied, sitting up tall in her armchair, ready to deliver another blow. “He just called me a witch.”
Brooke covered her mouth as she stifled a laugh, and my mum groaned and slapped me on the arm, then tried to make Stella feel better by adding, “No, he didn’t. It was just a joke. You know what Devon’s like.”
“Yes, I do.” Stella narrowed her eyes at me. “He’s a regular Tommy Cooper, that one.”
“Who’s Tommy Cooper?” Brooke asked, frowning.
“A comedian from the eighties. Died on stage,” Mum said, fussing around collecting empty mugs ready to make us all a cuppa.
“Sounds about right,” Stella added, lifting her nose in the air. “Bet you’d die on stage too. That’s if anyone actually bothered to show up.”
“Will you two stop?” Mum snapped, standing in the middle of the living room and blowing a stray hair out of her eyes as she huffed at us. “This is family time. Let’s enjoy it. Please? We know more than most how important it is to cherish the ones still here.” The shine of unshed tears flickered in her eyes. “And that reminds me, I need to tell you something.” Mum hesitated and bit her lip as if she was unsure whether to tell me or not. “I saw him again.”
I sighed and sat down heavily in the armchair opposite Stella.
