The feud, p.1
The Feud, page 1
THE FEUD
GEMMA ROGERS
For Buster
Our Best Friend
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Acknowledgments
More from Gemma Rogers
About the Author
About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE
The metal key was cold in my hand as I crouched, one knee pressed against the damp tarmac of the driveway, moisture seeping into my leggings. I shivered; drizzle hung in the air, the constant threat of October’s persistent heavy rain. It was not a night to be out for a walk.
Hamstrings twitched of their own accord as I stayed rooted to the spot; neglected muscles stretched into positions I was unaccustomed to. I had to get on with it, I’d get seen from the road if someone came past. If they innocently glanced through the open gates and found me squatted on someone’s driveway in the dark. Thankfully, the weather had meant the streets were quiet.
Shielded from view of the large double-fronted house, I was hidden by the F-Pace Jaguar I was yet to touch. Lights from inside glowed brightly through the open blinds into the darkness, but there was no movement from the front of the house, no sound carried on the still night air either. The motion sensor of the security light obviously didn’t reach the back of the large driveway which extended around twenty-five feet. Although I bet it would after today.
A bitter aftertaste of cheap vodka clung to my tongue which, combined with my heart racing, made my stomach swim. Through my single AirPod, I could hear the Teams meeting with the Americans I was supposed to be attending. Lisa’s Texan drawl grating, using her chance to speak as an opportunity for a sales pitch. I’d done my bit already and turned the volume right down. I wasn’t required to talk, but I had no idea if I’d be called upon again. I had to move fast while I had my chance.
I chewed on my lip as the muscles in my thighs pinged. I’d been in the same position too long, my legs protesting despite the adrenaline coursing around my body. Was I really going to do it? What would it be classed as? Criminal damage? I’d never so much as had a parking ticket, but I wasn’t putting up with shit from anyone. Not any more. Nothing came from playing by the rules. You got treated like a doormat. He needed to be taught a lesson and I’d bet the brand-spanking-new 71-plate Jaguar hiding me was his pride and joy.
Staying low, I rounded the side of the car, the bordering fence to his neighbour on my right. With one swift motion, I dragged my key from the back wing all the way to the bonnet, relishing the squeaking sound as it cut into the paintwork. The satisfying noise as the key sliced down to the metal. A rush of euphoria hit me as the alarm sounded, a loud, high-pitched squeal disturbing the peace.
Orange indicator lights flashed accusingly in time with the shrill siren, illuminating my presence beside the car as I stood, ready to make my escape. The security light flooded the space instantly, so bright it hurt my eyes, and I could hear a dog barking from inside the house. Before I had a chance to turn, a shadowy figure appeared at the window, their frame filling the space, looming large. It seemed to stare straight at me.
I froze, shivers shooting down my spine, unsure whether I’d been seen and not wanting to draw attention by moving. The shape in the window shifted and, jolted to my senses, I ignored the shooting pains in my legs and broke into a run; unable to contain the smile forming on my face. Payback was a bitch.
1
THE DAY BEFORE
‘I’m really sorry, Kay, I’m not sure how they can justify it, but you know how it is.’ Ed shrugged, his brown blazer crumpling at the shoulders as he leant over the microwave, waiting for it to ping. He didn’t care, he worked in Operations. Who was appointed in the Human Resources department was of no consequence to him. I scowled into my coffee, seeing my reflection swim. It tasted as bitter as my mood.
Behind me, the door to the small kitchenette was thrown open, knocking my elbow just as I took a sip, hot liquid escaping the mug and sloshing down the front of my cream blouse.
‘Fuck!’ I winced as the brown stain blossomed, causing the fabric to stick like molten lava to my skin.
Ed turned around at my curse, eyes wide, his mouth forming an oval. ‘Language, Kay!’
A silk-like voice came from the doorway as I gingerly peeled the searing chiffon from my chest and reached for the kitchen roll. I didn’t even bother to look up, let alone respond. I knew from the voice it was Tim, and he was on my shit list today.
Tim was the Global HR Manager of Winston’s Transport. A haulage company that covered the United Kingdom, with major hubs in Gatwick, as well as Birmingham and Newcastle, and a small head office in Tunbridge Wells. Tim was the most senior member of staff in the Gatwick hub, something he loved reminding everyone on a regular basis.
‘Here, let me help.’ Ed dived in, handing me reams of kitchen towel, all the time trying to avert his eyes from the lace of my bra on full display through the now transparent material.
My skin was on fire and, ignoring the audience, I ran the sheets under the cold tap and dabbed at my chest. Relief was instantaneous, its bliss swiftly broken by the sound of Tim clearing his throat.
‘Kay, I’d like to introduce you to the new HR Manager for the South. This is Liam Shepherds, previously from our Tunbridge Wells office; I don’t believe you two have met.’ It wasn’t a question.
I turned and pulled my lips into a tight smile while sizing up the man who had shuffled into the cramped space, back pressed against the worktop.
He looked in his early thirties, easily ten years younger than me. Dark green eyes framed by strawberry-blond eyelashes. His skin was pale and freckled, but he looked smart in a taupe suit teamed with a soft pink shirt. He thrust his hand forward, an innocent smile warmed his face.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ he said.
‘This is Kay Massingham, she’s our Contract Manager based here in Gatwick. Like you, Kay reports to me with a dotted line to our legal department.’ Tim’s deep voice seemed to boom around the tiny kitchen. With four people inside, the space had been absorbed, atmosphere claustrophobic.
I gave Liam a damp but firm handshake, hoping he didn’t notice my nails bitten to the quick.
‘Welcome to the team,’ I said crisply, anger bubbling in my stomach. Tim knew we’d never met. I’d not heard of him before, let alone seen him. I’d bet my last month’s salary he didn’t hold the CIPD qualification that was supposedly the prerequisite for the Human Resources Manager role. The qualification I’d spent months working towards in my own time, in the hope of adding another string to my bow.
‘Ed, would you mind introducing Liam to the Operations Department,’ Tim said. It was an instruction not a request, as was Tim’s way.
Ed and Liam exited the kitchen as the microwave announced Ed’s lunch was done – it would be cold by the time he ate it.
I turned my back on Tim, leaning over the sink, still trying to rescue my blouse which was now only fit for the bin.
‘I know this isn’t the outcome you hoped for, Kay,’ Tim said stiffly.
I clenched my jaw tight, but it wasn’t enough to stop the words escaping like projectile vomit. Pushed-down resentment rising and spilling out. ‘Five bloody years I’ve worked here, Tim. I’ve gone above and beyond for this company. Extra hours, weekends. I’m the only female who’s managed to claw their way into the management team,’ I went on, interrupted by Tim waving his hands like he was trying to slow a herd of rampaging buffalo.
‘Liam’s been earmarked for fast-track promotion by the powers that be. You know how it is. I didn’t have a choice.’
‘Oh, grow a pair, that job should have been mine and you know it,’ I snapped.
Tim’s eyes darkened; a shadow crossing his face. I’d overstepped the mark, but I couldn’t help myself.
‘Careful, I understand you’re upset. We might be friends, Kay, but remember I’m still your boss, for the time being anyway.’ He crossed his arms and I noticed dandruff speckling the shoulder of his blazer, fallen from hi
s perfectly coiffed Just for Men hair. He should have gone grey years ago, well into his fifties now, and it was obvious he dyed it.
‘You’re not my friend, Tim, friends don’t screw each other over. We’re colleagues, and that’s all we’ll ever be,’ I retorted. He looked wounded, but I didn’t stop. ‘I’m taking the afternoon off; I need a fresh shirt. You can put it down as hours owed.’
I stormed past him and back to my office. In my peripheral vision through the glass-panelled wall, I could see Liam shaking hands with Gav and Sarge over in Operations.
‘All fucking lads together,’ I muttered as I pushed my half-eaten sandwich into the bin and switched off my computer. I should have got out of this company a long time ago. I was never going to get anywhere, not here.
Winston’s Transport was a haulage firm stuck in the dark ages, headed up by an old fart with prehistoric values who thought women should be relegated to answering phones and looking pretty. There were few females in management positions and to make it into one your face had to fit.
I’d started as a HR Assistant to Tim five years ago, my first full-time job after having the twins. When they both started at high school, they needed me less and I was ready to pick up my career again. It was hard, but I clawed my way up to Contract Manager three years after joining Winston’s, a few weeks shy of my forty-first birthday. I’d learnt I had to work harder than anyone else to get noticed. In the early days, I wore skirts and stiletto heels, which were quickly replaced by trouser suits and flatter shoes. It seemed the less feminine I looked, the more I was taken seriously.
A howl of laughter came from the open-plan area. Sarge was throwing his head back, bulbous stomach jiggling as he let out a loud guffaw at one of Tim’s jokes. They stood in a circle, peacocking, slapping each other on the back and rearranging their crotches while no one batted an eyelid. I only had to reposition a bra strap before the lewd comments started. Fucking men.
I should have been used to the male comradery, but even so, I’d been the first to apply for the HR Manager position covering the southern region when Martin left to work for the logistics giant Eddie Stobart in September. Going to a competitor meant he’d gone straight on gardening leave, leaving the role wide open.
Tim knew how much I wanted that job, how I needed the bump in salary now I was a single parent, trying to manage the bills by myself. I’d been open about the difficulties I was having at home, but now I wished more than anything I’d kept my mouth shut. It had made me look weak when I was already at a disadvantage just for being a woman.
Liam being appointed was a massive kick in the teeth. The announcement had come out via email that morning, sent to the whole company. Hearing whispers around the office about who the new HR Manager for the South was had been humiliating. It was no secret I’d applied, that I’d been interviewed officially almost a month ago. I’d enquired only last week as to if there would be a second interview but was told management were still reviewing candidates. It seemed they’d just been waiting for Liam’s replacement to slot into his previous sales role, freeing him up to move to Gatwick. The least Tim could have done was told me I’d been rejected. He was a coward and had only got to the position he had because his face had fit. Mine, it appeared, did not.
To add insult to injury, I heard my name mentioned as I stalked out of the office with my bag.
‘Don’t worry about Kay, she’s a little hormonal sometimes.’ It preceded a loud snigger from the group, but I wasn’t sure who’d said it – Sarge or Gav most likely.
‘Careful, lads, I’d hate to have to report you,’ Tim chortled. As if.
I sat in the car, biting back angry tears, trying to console myself, it was nothing new. I’d have to pick myself up and keep plugging away. Although what was the point, it was like wading through treacle. There was no future for me in haulage, not at Winston’s anyway.
I turned on the engine and switched the blowers on to clear the windscreen, ignoring the sounds of the planes coming in to land. A noise I was so accustomed to, I barely even registered we were so close to the airport.
It was only October, but my life had unravelled since the spring. My husband, Jonathan, moved out of the three-bed detached home we’d saved so hard for, a separation which had become increasingly nasty. Our sixteen-year-old twins, Rachel and Ryan, seemed keen to live with him and his relaxed parenting manner. Currently they were floating between us both, while we existed in limbo. Meanwhile, I was struggling to cope with their rejection, Jonathan’s too. We’d been happy, or so I’d been led to believe, although he’d admitted he hadn’t been for a while. He’d denied there was another woman, but I couldn’t honestly say I believed him.
I’d started drinking more to get by, the extra calories of a bottle of wine almost every night had taken a toll on my waistline. Personally, life was a mess, but professionally I had it together. I was good at my job; the promotion, I felt, was guaranteed and now that rug had been pulled out from beneath me too. At least I was over the hump of the week, there were only two more days to drag myself through and then the weekend to decide on the future.
It looked as though I was going to have to sell the house. I couldn’t afford to remortgage and buy Jonathan out, not without the HR Manager salary I coveted. Letting tears escape, I thrust my fingers into my hair, pulling tight at the scalp, and screamed into my lap, knowing I wouldn’t be heard from the office. No longer was I going to be ridiculed and trodden on by the misogynists of the world. Something had to give.
2
I arrived at St James’s Senior School at two in the afternoon, managing to get the last space before the double yellow lines. I’d been lucky, with the threat of an autumnal rain shower prominent in the gunmetal sky, parents lined the narrow road almost an hour before their little darlings finished for the day. All so they wouldn’t get wet.
Around 1,400 students attended, including those in sixth form, which meant the school run was notoriously busy. The building was situated on a no through road with a small roundabout at the end. The idea was that parents could drop off their children at the kerb, drive around the roundabout and easily leave without there being too much congestion. However, the limited number of spaces meant parents parked pretty much wherever they liked, and each drop-off and pick-up was chaos, especially when it was raining.
Normally, the twins walked home, sometimes together, sometimes with their friends. It took them around twenty-five minutes up a long hill towards our house, and being in their last year of high school, they both had a key to let themselves in. Jonathan and I worked full-time, although I was able to drop them off on the way to work. Meaning I could guarantee they weren’t late for school, but it was a nice surprise for them to be picked up.
Something positive to come out of a shitty Wednesday and I needed to build bridges with both of them. To try to repair the cracks left by Jonathan leaving, something they blamed me for, although I had no idea why. I’d sent a text to let them know I was outside, but I wouldn’t get a response yet; they weren’t supposed to have their phones switched on during school hours.
I stared out of the window, shivering. The coffee stain on my blouse was yet to dry, the material now cold and damp, spreading through my skin and chilling the blood in my veins. My chest was still an angry red, throbbing as if to remind me of my humiliating day. I didn’t bother to turn on the engine, the heater of my Skoda was rubbish when the car wasn’t in motion, blowing tepid air would only add to my discomfort. Not even my resentment about the missed promotion could keep me warm.
