SINNER
Jacqui Rose

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2019

Cover design © Alison Groom 2019

Cover photographs © Shutterstock/Unsplash 2019

Jacqui Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008287344

Ebook Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008287351

Version: 2019-06-04

Dedication

To my readers, with thanks x

Epigraph

‘What’s done cannot be undone.’

Lady Macbeth

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

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

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Jacqui Rose

About the Publisher

1
SOHO
LATE LAST NIGHT

Alfie Jennings gulped down the last drops of the bottle of whiskey as he watched the orange and yellow flames of the fire dance about. Pulling his gaze away he stared at the letter he held in his hand, reading it once more as he tried to stop himself from trembling whilst feeling the same clawing terror he’d felt over the past ten months or so since the letters first started to arrive.

Leaning over the neatly cut-up line of cocaine that sat on top of the black, hand-carved mantelpiece in the front room of the large Georgian house in Soho, Alfie snorted it up greedily. He hoped the coke he’d bought from his friend would somehow make him feel better. Get him high and make him forget.

Closing his eyes, he swallowed as the white powder hit the back of his throat. He tasted the bitterness as a rush of euphoria raced through his bloodstream and for just one fleeting moment, his crippling fear subsided, only for it to return a few seconds later as it came crashing back all too hard, all too quickly.

About to snort another line at the same time as making a mental note to pull up his mate for selling him low-grade coke, Alfie felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he stared at the screen. Number withheld. He frowned as he answered.

‘Hello? … Hello?’

Getting no reply and trying to ignore the cold, clammy dread creeping over his body, Alfie attempted to convince himself that his racing heart was just down to the bad batch of coke. He spoke again. ‘Hello? Hello? Listen, whoever this is, let me tell you something: I don’t appreciate being prank called, and when I find out who you are, I will make sure I get …’ He stopped suddenly, hearing slow breathing on the other end of the line. But not wanting to show alarm, Alfie cleared his throat, now aware of his own breath; short and shallow, his voice smaller, quieter, fear mixing into his words.

‘Who is this? Look, this isn’t funny anymore. You hear me? I don’t know what you’re trying to do but if you think you’re going to scare me by playing the old heavy breather game, think again, cos you’re wasting your time. You don’t scare me. You think a few phone calls and a few letters are going to get me going? Do me a favour. You seriously can’t know who I am. I’m Alfie Jennings. You hear that? I’m Alfie, and I never get frightened about anything, so why don’t you just do one and call someone else?’

Hurriedly, Alfie clicked off his phone, throwing it across the room as he took deep, long breaths, wiping the prickles of sweat off his face, trying to calm his trembling, trying to stop the wave of nausea overwhelming him as he swallowed the vomit back down along with his panic.

It was stupid. So stupid. How could a few letters and calls make him feel so jumpy? Maybe it was just the coke making him twitchy. Paranoid. Christ almighty.

But as Alfie stood – his handsome face pale and strained – in the large, newly decorated front room, still holding the letter in his hand, the second one he’d received that day and feeling like it was burning a hole in his palm, he knew the real problem wasn’t the substandard coke. The real problem was he was scared – really scared – and he hated himself for it. He was disgusted at his fear, and God knows he’d never admit it to anyone. The worst thing was, no matter how much he drank and snorted coke to take away the panic, the fear still sat there like a stone in his stomach.

He couldn’t even tell Franny – his long-term lover – about it, although it was clear she knew something wasn’t quite right. She’d asked him on several occasions if there was some kind of problem, even going as far as suggesting that he took a break, went back to Spain, set up again there, anything to make him feel better. But all he’d said to her was that he was fine. That everything was just fine, but fine couldn’t be further from the truth.

It was a joke. He was a joke, and the shame of it all sat on his shoulders like a weighted barbell. And besides, even if he wanted to tell Franny, what would he actually say to her? How would he say it? And how could she look at him afterwards with any kind of respect when he told her he was afraid? Afraid of the calls. Afraid of a letter. A flipping four-line letter. It was pathetic because after all when it came down to it, he was the great Alfie Jennings, the same Alfie Jennings who’d put fear into so many men over the years and the same Alfie Jennings who’d taken on gangs and notorious crime families to become one of the biggest faces there was. Yet here he was trembling like a girl over a poxy note, which this time had been left on the window of his car. But then, it wasn’t just any note, was it? Because the note wasn’t from just anybody, was it? No, because he was certain he knew exactly who the note was from.

Shaking and with his thick, dark hair stuck to his sweating forehead, Alfie glanced down again at the letter.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I’m your worst nightmare and I’m coming for you.

Screwing it up tightly and throwing it into the flames, Alfie rested his head against the fireplace.

The letters had been one of the reasons he’d moved back up to Soho from Essex; it made him feel safe, or rather he’d hoped it would’ve done. He’d thought the familiarity of the place, seeing the people he’d grown up with and throwing himself back into his old ways would make him feel better, make him forget. But he hadn’t. Not one little bit. He was still looking over his shoulder, still drinking more than he should to stay as sharp as he would’ve liked to, and still taking too much coke, all behind Franny’s back.

The only thing it had helped him do was forget Bree Dwyer, an old friend who he’d bumped into last year, and when he’d stupidly thought that Franny had ripped him off in a business deal and wasn’t coming back, he had sought comfort in Bree and very quickly they’d become lovers. Then just as he was beginning to settle down with her, Franny had come back, explaining the reasons why she’d done what she’d done, but by that time it was too late, because he’d already fallen in love with Bree without bothering to fall out of love with Franny.

But over time, Franny – who’d always been the strong one – did something that if he’d been in the same position, he knew he couldn’t have done; she’d become friends with Bree, trying to make the three of them work. And Jesus, it’d been complicated, especially when Bree had found out she was pregnant. Not that she’d been certain if it was his or her ex-husband’s baby, though ultimately it hadn’t mattered whose it was, because Bree had had a miscarriage. Afterwards, she’d decided she didn’t want anything to do with him and once again his heart had been broken when she’d moved away without saying goodbye and without leaving a forwarding address.

And through all of it, and although Franny had been hurt, really hurt by his relationship with Bree – albeit he’d never set out to cause her any pain – Franny had been kind. Supportive. Worrying about him. Suggesting he took time out in Spain whilst she stayed in England to run the businesses. Not that he’d taken her up on it and anyway, when the first letter had come all those months ago, Bree and his broken heart were soon forgotten, overshadowed by his own debilitating fear.

A sound in the hallway cut into Alfie’s thoughts. For a moment he froze before quietly stepping back towards the hearth, his eyes fixed on the lounge door.

Feeling his heart begin to race again, Alfie carefully slid his hand behind the bronze clock on the mantelpiece, and pulled out a large jagged knife. He paused, listening again, then made his way slowly around the room, quickly turning off the light, leaving him in darkness save the glowing embers of the fire.

He could feel the tightness in his chest as he gripped the leather handle of the knife. Moving across the room in the darkness, careful to avoid banging into anything, afraid to make a noise, Alfie stiffened as he heard the sound again. Someone was coming. They were getting nearer.

Nervously playing with the knife in his hand, he twirled it around and around in his palm, which was now wet with sweat as he stared into the darkness, just waiting. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and there it was again. Just outside the door now.

As the door began to open, Alfie pushed himself as far back as he could then without hesitation he jumped forward, grabbing the person in a neck lock, spinning them round and with as much strength as he could, he threw them hard against the wall, kicking at them brutally as they fell to the floor.

In the darkness, Alfie, enraged, slammed their head against the wooden floorboards over and over again at the same time as ignoring the punching and struggling from the person beneath him. With one hand, he grabbed their throat, pushing down hard as he brought the knife to their cheek, pressing it into their flesh. He could hear choking as he held their neck. ‘You haven’t got nothing to say now, have you? Let me show you what happens when you think you can take me on. Thought you could frighten me, did you? Well I’m going …’

‘Alf … Alf …’

Horrified, Alfie suddenly let go, scrabbling back as he dropped the knife, frantically leaping up to turn the light on. ‘Franny? Oh my God, Franny. Jesus, what have I done?’

Sickened at himself, he stood transfixed as Franny rolled around in pain, the small nick on her face oozing with blood. Then shaking himself out of his trance, Alfie dropped to his knees, cradling Franny’s head in his arm as he pulled up her top to reveal the angry bruise on the side of her ribs. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Are you all right? Jesus Christ, I could’ve killed you. What were you thinking of creeping about like that?’

Rubbing her throat, Franny began to sit up, wincing at the pain, her voice croaking from the chokehold as she stared at Alfie in shocked bemusement. ‘Me? What I am doing? Alfie, I live here!’

Turning his shame into anger, Alfie snapped, ‘I know that, but you could’ve been anybody!’

‘Like who? Like who, Alfie?’

Alfie shrugged, not wanting to hold eye contact. ‘I don’t know, like a burglar.’

‘Are you kidding me? When was the last time you knew a burglar to use a key? What is wrong with you?’

Although he knew he was out of order and should be full of apologies, her tone bristled him. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. Why would there be anything wrong with me? What are you trying to say, Fran?’

Standing up with great effort and holding her side, Franny shook her head, strands of her long chestnut hair covered in blood from the wound on her cheek. ‘Have you heard yourself? Are you …’ About to say something else, she stopped as her eyes caught sight of the lines of cocaine still sitting on the mantelpiece. She spoke coldly. ‘What is that?’

Alfie glanced towards where Franny was staring. Shit, he’d forgotten about that. Irritated, but aware it was more about being caught out, he said, ‘What do you think it is? Can’t a man have a bit of downtime?’

Stepping towards him, Franny matched Alfie’s tone. ‘Not when that downtime turns you so paranoid you think you need to attack me for coming into my own home!’

‘Turn it in, Fran. I hate it when you exaggerate … Look, I’m really sorry, okay? I thought you were …’

‘Thought I was who, Alf? Talk to me.’

Alfie shrugged, aware of his anxiety as he tried to sound casual. ‘I dunno. Does it matter?’

‘What matters, Alf, is that you were so high you could’ve killed me. You didn’t even wait to see who it was … Baby, what’s going on? I mean you haven’t been yourself for a long time now. I’m worried about you. I know I’ve said it before but why don’t you think about getting away? Take some time out. Set up again in Spain if that’s what it takes. You were happy there and we can make that work. We’ve done it before; after all Spain is only a couple of hours away … What’s that you’re burning?’

Franny looked at the fire and again, Alfie shrugged. Uncomfortable, he mumbled, ‘Nothing.’

Franny’s voice was soft. ‘Alfie?’

‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘Like what?’

Rubbing his chin, Alfie snapped, ‘Like I’m hiding something.’

‘Well are you? Because I can clearly see something burning.’

Angrily and unable to deal with his emotions, Alfie grabbed his coat before turning to stare at Franny with as much hostility as he could muster. ‘What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? You’ll be wanting to know what time I went for a piss next.’

‘Alf …’

Alfie cut in, leaning in to Franny’s face. She recoiled at the smell of the whiskey on his breath. ‘Don’t flipping Alf me. I already told you, it’s nothing. Like the coke is nothing. It’s my nothing. It hasn’t got anything to do with you, so why don’t you just leave it? Now unless you’ve got anything else to say, I’m off to the club. Someone around here has to earn the money you seem to spend like water.’

And with that, Alfie Jennings slammed out of the room, leaving Franny to stare at the dying flames of the fire.

2

Shannon Mulligan was on her knees. It was only 8pm and she’d already lost count of the amount of blow jobs she’d given that day in the small members-only club in Mead Street, Soho. Though on analysis, she reckoned it must be a lot on account of how painful her knees were and how much her jaw was aching – those were two good indicators in her book. Her rule was, if she didn’t feel the burn in her knee joints and the throbbing in her jaw, well she hadn’t done enough, which ultimately meant her pimp, Charlie Eton, would have something to say. And one thing that Shannon Mulligan knew all too well was that Charlie’s first language wasn’t English when it came to money.

Charlie talked in bust lips, black eyes, broken ribs and knocked-out teeth. Not that she was particularly bothered about her teeth – they’d started falling out a long time ago, long before she’d started working for Charlie and around about the same time she’d moved from heroin on to crack. Besides, she didn’t think it was half bad not having all her front teeth: it made the blow jobs easier and stopped the punters’ pubic hairs getting stuck in them, which was one of her pet peeves.

Bored and glancing up, Shannon’s view was blocked by her client’s enormous pasty white wobbly belly as he thrust into her mouth one final time before he let out a loud squeal – reminding Shannon of the pig she’d seen on TV last week – as his legs gave way underneath him, and he collapsed satisfied to the floor.

Staring in disgust, Shannon stood up and sighed. Today was her sixteenth birthday.

Charlie Eton was one of life’s bastards and he prided himself on this self-proclaimed title. If anyone called him a bastard, rather than be offended, he took it as a compliment, knowing that he must be doing something right, because to Charlie being a bastard showed strength. It showed aggression. It showed he’d wound somebody up enough for them to be upset. Everything he aspired to do and be – that word said it all.

He didn’t ever want to be called nice, kind, warm, loving, not by anyone. Not by his ten kids he never saw, not by any of his ex-wives and certainly not by the people who worked for him. Though after being in the business for as long as he had, he doubted anyone who knew him would call him those names. And he was comfortable with that. Very. Because those names were synonymous with weakness.

Weakness to him was a disease. A disorder. It was what his mother had been, night after night when instead of fighting back, she’d allowed his father to beat her up and then done nothing when his father’s attentions turned towards him and his younger sisters. Attentions that not only included kicks and punches, but also long, painful, drawn-out attentions in the bedroom, day or night.

And it’d been after one particular night when Charlie Eton was just twelve years old, when the friends his father had brought home – to join in with his perversions – had left, that Charlie had first heard his father call him a bastard. And it’d been a revelation to Charlie. Like listening to the sweetest music. He’d seen it as a coming of age. His own version of a bar mitzvah. Because that winter’s day in the cold, cramped, damp two-bedroom house he shared with his parents and four sisters, Charlie discovered that he too had power.

His father had been sprawled naked on top of one of his sisters whilst their mother drank herself into a stupor in the next room. Charlie had seen the fear in his father’s eyes as he held the coal fire’s burning red poker against his neck, and right then Charlie had understood that his father, the man he’d spent his whole life terrified and cowering from, could also be afraid. Could also be weak.

And the weakness exuding from his father had spurred Charlie on, exciting him. Making him feel alive. Making him feel worthy. Strong. Powerful … Untouchable. And for the first time in his life, Charlie had felt a glimmer of happiness. A glimmer of peace. And the more fear, the more weakness his father had shown him, the more it had encouraged Charlie to use his new-found courage to burn and blister his father’s flesh further, smelling the sizzling, stubbled skin mixed in with the smell of his father’s fear. Then it’d happened. The moment when the words, ‘You bastard,’ were screamed from his father’s lips and the moment Charlie Eton knew life would be different.

Although he’d got the beating of his life, ending up in hospital with a broken arm, fractured skull and dislocated jaw, he’d learnt a priceless lesson that had helped his bruises and broken limbs hurt less. He’d learnt that weakness was a man’s enemy.

‘Hey, boss! Boss?’

Sitting on the gold-leafed toilet seat, trousers around his ankles with his bloated body falling over the lavatory bowl in waves, Charlie’s thoughts were sharply interrupted by one of his men who stood in the entrance of his expensive, black-tiled bathroom. Annoyed by the intrusion, Charlie snarled.

‘Can’t a person go to the frigging carzey in peace?’

‘Sorry, Charlie, I just …’

‘Watch your manners!’ Throwing the nearest thing he could reach, which just so happened to be the toilet brush, at the man’s head, and fuming, Charlie stood up, pulling up his trousers without bothering to wipe.

‘Sorry, Mr Eton, it’s just that you asked me to let you know when I saw Alfie going into his club.’

Narrowing his grey eyes, Charlie glared. ‘Yeah, but I don’t remember that including disturbing me when I’m having a shit.’

‘Yes, boss. Sorry.’

Sighing and deciding there and then that he was going to give the man his marching orders, Charlie asked, ‘How long ago?’

‘Must have only been about ten minutes ago. He didn’t look so great to tell you the truth. He looked a bit ill.’

Stepping forward, Charlie breathed into the man’s face. The sticky aroma of unbrushed teeth wafted between them. ‘When I want a medical diagnosis, I’ll call 999, but in the meantime, just shut the hell up. You understand?’

‘Yes, boss.’

Satisfied, Charlie nodded. ‘Good, now off you trot … oh and whilst you’re at it, get your things and go.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me, go. Leave. You’re sacked. I don’t want to see you around here again. Got it?’

‘But why? I don’t understand.’

Bemused, Charlie brought back his leg, kneeing the man hard in his balls. ‘Why? Because I’m Charlie Eton, that’s why. And for your information, I don’t need a reason to sack you, and come to think of it, I don’t need a reason to kill you either. So, if I were you, I’d piss off out of my sight before I count to ten.’

Fifteen minutes later, Charlie Eton sat on the large blue leather sofa, dressed in designer jeans and a pink Ralph Lauren shirt, in the crisp white back room of his club, deep in thought and ruminating about Alfie Jennings whilst Shannon attempted to work on his limp penis.

Fed up and feeling a bit of chafing, Charlie kicked Shannon away, sending her crashing into a pile of beer crates.

Indignantly, she screamed, her big green eyes filling up with tears as she looked down at her laddered black tights, which she’d only just bought cheaply from one of the shoplifters who regularly came by the club selling their goods. Looking through the fringe of her red curly hair, Shannon’s bottom lip quivered as she wailed. ‘What did you go and do that for?’

‘Turn it in, Shan – or at least turn it down. I’m not in the mood for any of your whining and blubbering. I’ve already had enough shit tonight, and that’s before I decide what needs to be done about Alfie. I mean, who the hell does he think he is setting up a club right on my doorstep? He must think I’m a flipping mug. Do I look like a mug, Shan? Come on, be honest. Do I look like I’ve got idiot written on my forehead?’

Wiping away her tears, Shannon shook her head. ‘No, Char, he’s the one who’s the mug.’

Charlie stared at his niece and smiled. He liked her loyalty. That went a long way in his book. Okay, so she moaned a lot, she chewed off his ear more than the other girls that he had working for him, but when all was said and done, Shannon was a good grafter – he’d give her that. And underneath the thick, exaggerated make-up, there was a beautiful girl and even though she was just sixteen, there was still the look of a child about her. A vulnerability. When she wiped off the cack from her face, she could easily pass for as young as ten. A ten-year-old with a woman’s body. Punters paid a lot for that.

The other thing he’d always liked about Shannon was that she seemed grateful. Grateful for the care he gave her. He supposed there was something to be said about having family working for him. Not that his sister, Shannon’s mother, had been much use to anybody. Far from it.

Like their own mother, she’d been weak, spending most of her life in and out of mental institutions before she’d been found dead from an overdose of heroin in a back alley off the Old Kent Road. As a result, Shannon had gone to live with one of her aunts who, in his opinion, had done a good job with the girl. She’d prepared Shannon for the harsh realities of life. She’d made her strong. She hadn’t wrapped her up in cotton wool, which didn’t do anything for anybody apart from making them weak.

No, what his sister had done was get Shannon out there. Exposing her to how life really was. Getting her to earn her keep from the start by pawning her out, before putting her full time on the game, and Shannon had not only earned his sister a crust, but she’d also made a little bit of pocket money for herself too. If his memory served him right, he recalled his sister telling him once that Shannon had been earning at least fifteen pounds a week for herself when most eight-year-old girls would be lucky to have a couple of pounds. Shannon certainly was a lucky girl.

To Charlie, a strong work ethic was one of the most important things in life because nothing in life came free. He of all people should know that, and now Shannon, thanks to his sister, knew that as well. Still, even he knew on occasion there were exceptions to those rules.

He grinned, digging into his trouser pocket, and winked at Shannon as he pulled out a small off-white rock of crack cocaine, throwing it to her gently.

‘You’d thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you? Well I hadn’t … Happy birthday, Shan. Now you can’t say I don’t give you anything … Come on then, come and give your uncle a birthday kiss.’

3

Another person who seemed to have Alfie on their mind was Franny Doyle, but it was another couple of hours before she’d cleaned herself up and found herself walking slowly along the bustling streets of Soho towards their club just off Sutton Row.

Although Soho had changed a lot over the years, she still felt at home here. It gave her a certain kind of peace like nowhere else did.

She’d been raised in the small square mile of Soho and around each and every corner were memories. Happy childhood memories, and she could almost feel the ghosts of the past.

She smiled sadly to herself as she walked past St Anne’s Church on Dean Street, remembering how her father Patrick, a number-one face, had once raced her home from there to their large house in Soho Square; him running, and her pedalling away on the new pink bike he’d given her, like her life depended on it. And they’d laughed hard and hysterically whilst the rain lashed down, and they’d been soaked to the skin but it hadn’t mattered, not one little bit.

Until those days had become complicated, they were happy ones. And she supposed that’s what she missed most of all. The simple pleasures. The laughter, something that was certainly absent from her life of late, though one thing that being back had done was reconnect her with the past, and take away any doubts she had. It made her see even more clearly what was important to her, and that was family. Family came in all different ways and in all different manners. Family didn’t need to be about blood, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t protect them like they were. No matter what it took. No matter what she had to do.

So yes, even though life at the moment was difficult and stressful, and at times it felt like she wasn’t coping properly, she was pleased to be here among the vibrant streets of Soho. Not that it had been her idea to come back – it had been Alfie’s. Nor had it been her idea to get back into the club business – again that had been Alfie’s – but considering the state of mind he was in, she couldn’t have persuaded him otherwise even if she’d tried.

Though hopefully, very soon, Alfie would realise what was best for him. Realise he really did need to get away. Properly away. To Spain. To Mexico. To Brazil. To anywhere but here. He’d looked ill earlier, a shell of his former self, and no matter what, she still did care about him. She always would. Just because he’d be in one country and her in another, it wouldn’t mean the end of them, but right now, her and Alfie’s relationship was the least of her worries.

Taking a deep breath, Franny closed her eyes for a moment, the enormity of everything washing over her. She had to keep on believing that things would work out in the end. In fact, they had to, because it wasn’t just Alfie feeling anxious. If things didn’t work out very soon, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

Opening her eyes and regretting not putting a warmer top on, Franny, once more beginning to feel the pressure build up, started to walk again, still with Alfie firmly on her mind.

Ten minutes later, having stopped for a quick catch-up chat with one of the old prostitutes who’d worked the area for as long as she could remember, Franny arrived at the club. She walked down the stone basement stairs towards the discreet entrance and as she did, her phone rang.

She answered quickly. Her tone was hushed and cold as she stood in the shadows of the night, her gaze darting around anxiously.

‘Yes? … What? … For God’s sake, haven’t I told you not to call me unless it’s an emergency? … No, you listen to me. I said that I’d come round and I will. I’ve never let you down before have I? … No, that’s right. You know I’ve got a lot on so I don’t appreciate you making everything harder … I’m going to check on Alfie first, but like I say, unless you want us both getting into trouble, don’t call me again on this number.’

‘Who shouldn’t call you again?’

Franny jumped, turning round and letting out a small scream as she clutched the phone to her chest, backing away. ‘Jesus Christ, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Don’t go around creeping up on people like that.’

Vaughn Sadler stepped out of the shadows into the light, staring at Franny, his green eyes twinkling with suspicion. ‘I wasn’t. Not my style, darling. Sneaking about has never been my thing.’

He held her stare and, annoyed, she waved him off. ‘Whatever, Vaughn. You carry on telling yourself that.’

Vaughn tilted his head, finishing off his large cigar. ‘You seem jumpy.’

Wiping away the tiny beads of perspiration on her brow, Franny snapped, ‘Well yeah! Because you’ve jumped out on me.’

Vaughn leant in, a smirk spreading across his handsome face. ‘You carry on telling yourself that … So go on then, who was on the phone? Who shouldn’t call you again?’

Franny bristled with anger, desperate to get away. ‘Sorry to tell you this, Vaughn, but you’re not my keeper. Now if you don’t mind getting out of my way, I’m here to see Alfie.’

She turned to head for the entrance but felt the firm grip of Vaughn’s hand on her arm.

‘Not until you tell me.’

Franny shook her head, pushing her long chestnut hair out of the way. ‘Not a chance, and not because I’m hiding anything, but because it’s none of your business. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d take your hands off me.’

Vaughn dropped his hold. The coldness in his tone turned to ice. ‘I don’t like you, Franny, and I certainly don’t trust you. If it wasn’t for Alfie, after that stunt of yours you pulled last year, you’d be six foot under.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘No, it’s a regret. We should’ve got rid of you a long time ago because I know as well as you do that behind that pretty face of yours and those big innocent eyes, you’re a scheming bitch and come to think of it, you still owe me a lot of money. I don’t forget, and I certainly don’t forgive people who rip me off.’

Trying to keep her temper under control, Franny chewed the inside of her bottom lip. ‘You know it wasn’t like that.’

‘Like I say, you’re a scheming bitch. You might have Alfie fooled, darlin’, but sweetheart, I know your game. You are so like your father it’s unreal. Gangster through and through aren’t you?’

Irritated, Franny sighed. There was no love lost between her and Vaughn, who’d been Alfie’s business partner for a long while now. And no, she didn’t entirely blame him for being pissed off with her. But he knew as well as Alfie did that the stunt he was always referring to, the ripping off he often spoke about, simply wasn’t true. Okay, she’d taken his and Alfie’s money without asking them last year. A lot of money. Two million pounds to be precise. But it wasn’t about conning or cheating anybody. The fact was she knew if she’d asked them they, or at least Vaughn, would’ve said no. And no would’ve meant two people who were very dear to her would’ve likely been killed by the notorious Russo brothers, who’d demanded the money in return for her family’s safety. Not that it’d ended up being as simple as that, far from it, but she would defy anyone not to do the same in her position, and that included Vaughn.

‘I didn’t rip you off, you know that, and I’d do it again if I had to.’

Vaughn nodded. ‘I know, and that’s the problem. You aren’t to be trusted, and if Alfie can’t see that, then I’ll make it my business to make him see.’

‘Keep out of my business, Vaughn, you hear me?’

‘Not a chance. I’m going to bring you down, Franny.’

Franny barged past Vaughn, pushing down her anxiety and doing her best to ignore what he was saying.

‘I’m watching you, Franny Doyle. You hear me? I’m watching you!’

As Franny walked into the overheated basement club, her mood wasn’t helped when she saw Alfie slumped across the bar with one of the women who worked for them almost sitting on his knee. The minute she saw Franny, she blushed, tottering off quickly in her too high stilettos and shorter than short mini skirt muttering an apology under her breath.

Stony-faced, Franny sat on the Perspex bar stool next to Alfie as she looked around the club full of wealthy punters. Punters who were happy to flash their black Amex cards and pay well over the odds for the middle-of-the-road Champagne they served. And in return for their money, they got to wind down and chat freely to the pretty girls who worked there, away from their wives’ prying eyes.

Not that their girls were actual underage girls, not like Charlie Eton’s. That wasn’t even a possibility. To Franny, Charlie was the scum of the earth. She’d seen first-hand how young they were as well as seeing how badly he treated them, and in truth, it made her sick to her stomach. They were all vulnerable or runaway kids who saw Charlie and his club as an escape. Somewhere better than where they had come from. And Christ, that was the most depressing part of it all.

Franny had always been strict with the recruitment process. The youngest girl who worked for them at the moment had just turned twenty, and on account of it being almost impossible to know how old someone was just by looking at them, she always insisted on seeing the girls’ passports without exception.

The other thing she was strict on was making sure the girls understood from the get-go that the place wasn’t a knocking shop, or an escort business, nor did it have a room at the back for giving clients sneaky blow jobs.

All that was required of them was to look pretty, to be friendly, and to keep smiling, in addition to getting the punters to buy drinks. Lots of drinks. Obviously, what the girls did in their spare time with the clients wasn’t any of her business, but she warned them from the outset that if she heard them offering the clients sex, they’d be out on their ear before they could say the full works.

Membership for the club was in excess of ten thousand pounds a year, and so far, not only was the place doing very well, they also had a waiting list. The clients seemed to appreciate the air of discretion and sophistication, so having Alfie looking like he was about to vomit all over the expensive, plush black marble floor any minute was not a good look.

For the clients’ benefit, Franny kept a wide smile on her face whilst hissing a whisper. ‘For God’s sake, just sit up, Alf. You look a mess. This isn’t the time or the place.’ Half-cut, Alfie stared up at Franny. He winked at her. It always surprised him that even when she was angry she looked beautiful. In truth, she looked even more beautiful when she was annoyed, which didn’t mean to say she pissed him off any the less. In fact, it just added to his irritation.

‘Oh, that’s nice, ain’t it? No hello, no kiss, just straight in chewing me ear off.’

‘I wouldn’t have to if you carried yourself properly.’

Alfie shook his head. ‘Jesus, Fran, leave it out. All I’m doing is having a drink in my own club. No more, no less. It’s not a crime.’

Still holding her smile as she seethed, which she knew was more to do with her encounter with Vaughn, than Alfie, Franny snapped, ‘Like I say, you look a state, and you’re embarrassing yourself. Having the girls fall over you isn’t the way to run a place, not this kind of place anyway. And before you ask, Alf, I’m not jealous – far from it. This is about business and this business is supposed to be a classy joint. Now I get that something’s going on with you, but don’t bring that something to work.’

‘Cometh the ice maiden.’

‘Grow up, Alfie!’

With Franny’s arrival acting like a bucket of cold water, Alfie sat up, glaring, his blue eyes piercing from underneath his fringe of thick black hair. ‘Listen to me, if you only came down here to give me grief, why don’t you just turn your pretty backside around and go home. I can do without another lecture.’

Franny sighed, her voice softening as she touched his hand gently. ‘If you must know, I came here to see if you were all right. I was worried. You haven’t been yourself. Look what you did earlier. I just want to know what’s happening … Come on, talk to me, Alf.’

Alfie stayed silent for a moment before shrugging, trying to dispel his gnawing unease.

‘I’m fine. How many times do I have to tell you?’

‘Alf, it’s me you’re talking to. There’s something going on, I know there is. You’re distant. I can feel you pushing me away.’

Alfie looked at her evenly. ‘You think this is about Bree and you, don’t you?’

Franny bristled, her voice tight. ‘What … what are you talking about?’

Gently, Alfie took her hands. ‘I’m talking about you. You think I still miss her. That I’m still in love with her, don’t you?’

A flicker of relief crossed Franny’s face and more relaxed she said, ‘I don’t know – are you?’

‘No, and you know why?’ Franny shook her head but let Alfie continue to talk. ‘Because why would I want to waste my time on someone who didn’t love me back? I mean, she can’t have cared. She can’t have given a damn about me if she just dropped me the way she did. Going off like that without even a goodbye. I don’t know what I was thinking getting together with her in the first place.’

Seeming slightly distracted as if wanting to get on with what she had to do, Franny said, ‘You were hurt, Alfie. I understand. You thought I’d left you. It’s as simple as that.’

Alfie shook his head, genuine warmth and regret in his tone. ‘No, I was wrong, Fran. I’m surprised you don’t hate me. I put you through shit and hurt you badly, yet it’s not Bree sitting here, is it? It’s you … And I know this sounds bad, but it’s a good job that the pregnancy didn’t work out, otherwise if the baby had turned out to be mine, I’d have been lumbered with Bree for the rest of my life.’

‘Exactly, and I’m not holding any grudges, Alf. Bree is in the past now. She’s forgotten. What’s done is done. We don’t have to mention her again.’ Franny squeezed his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek, indicating that the topic of conversation was now closed.

With the cocaine in his system making him flick from one mood to another, Alfie growled as he pulled away from Franny, snatching hold of the glass of whiskey on the rocks in front of him. He raised it.

‘Well let’s drink to that. Good riddance to her, that’s all I can say. I had a lucky escape from that bitch …’ Alfie paused, his demeanour once again changing as he thought about the letters. ‘But the point is, Fran, what’s going on with me, it isn’t about her. I’ve just got a lot on my mind. You know, making a go of this place, all the long hours, it catches up on a person. I’m not as young as I use to be.’

Seeing an opportunity, Franny stared at Alfie. ‘That’s why you should get away. Take a break. Go back to Spain. We could even open another club out there. You were happier when we were living out there. Think about it, Alf, it could work out great.’

‘You’re keen on getting rid of him all of a sudden. That’s all I seem to hear these days. If you ask me, it seems a bit odd.’

For the second time that evening, Franny jumped as she turned around to see Vaughn again, and like before he stared at her coldly.

With Vaughn making her feel paranoid, Franny hissed, ‘Well I didn’t ask you, and it’s not about being keen, Vaughn, or about it being odd. It’s about what’s best for Alfie, and in case you haven’t noticed, he’s not himself at the moment. If you want to see something else in that, be my guest, but let me tell you something, you’re wasting your time.’ She turned back to Alfie. ‘Look, Alf, I’ll see you later.’

Franny began to walk away through the crowd of noisy, milling people, but she stopped in her tracks as Vaughn caught up with her, speaking out of earshot of Alfie. ‘Where are you going, Fran?’

Slowly, Franny turned on her heel to stare back at Vaughn who stood inches away, his muscular body rigid with anger.

‘What?’

‘You heard me, where are you off to?’

Franny’s expression spoke hatred. ‘You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you, Vaughnie? What’s your problem?’

‘Just answer the question, Fran. It’s not that hard.’

Expert at keeping her temper even, Franny’s voice was devoid of emotion. ‘I’m going home. It’s been a long day. Happy now?’

‘Home? Are you sure about that?’

Snorting with derision, Franny shook her head. ‘Whatever it is you’ve got to say, just say it.’

Giving a cloying smile, his handsome face twisted with a hatred that matched Franny’s, he leant forward to whisper in her ear. ‘Oh, I will, when the time’s right, that is. When I’ve worked out what exactly it is you’re up to.’

Franny laughed scornfully, and then said above the music, ‘You’ve clearly got too much time on your hands, Vaughn, or maybe you just need to go and get laid. Now if that’s all, I’m going home.’

‘Not quite all … Tomorrow I think you and me should go over the club’s accounts and then you could explain to me why there’s a lot of unaccounted money going out of the business.’ Franny didn’t turn to acknowledge Vaughn’s words; she continued to walk straight out the door.

Outside in the street, Franny leant on the black, wrought-iron railings, welcoming the cool. Shaking, she closed her eyes, breathing deeply, feeling the beginning of a tension headache. There was no way she could meet Vaughn and go over the books because he would want answers, and she had none to give him. The last thing she could do was tell him why she’d been taking money out of the business without telling either him or Alfie. But she knew Vaughn well enough to know he wouldn’t back down, and very soon he’d cause her real trouble, which was one thing she couldn’t afford to happen. So she had to work out what she was going to do about Vaughn. One way or another she was going to have to stop him.

After taking a couple of minutes to compose herself, Franny pulled out her phone and dialled a number. It was answered after only two rings.

‘Hi, it’s me … Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be so angry, it’s just that you know you shouldn’t call me on this number; anyone could’ve picked up, and things are becoming really difficult. I think Vaughn’s on to me … Anyway, I’m coming now, okay? See you soon.’

As Franny pushed down her sense of guilt, she slipped the phone back in her pocket, hurrying along Sutton Row, not noticing Charlie Eton and his men striding towards the club.

4

Charlie smiled as he held a small machete in his hand. ‘So, come on then, ladies and gentlemen, who’s first?’ He tapped the weapon in his palm as he nodded to one of his men to lock the door. Terrified by the intrusion, the club girls and clients began to scream, running in panic towards the fire exit, but their way was soon blocked by a handful of Charlie’s men, who herded them into the corner like sheep.

Having just come back from the bathroom located at the back of the club, it took Alfie a few moments to realise what was happening. Directly, he jumped into action, catching a glimpse of Vaughn smashing a bottle into the face of one of the intruders on the far side of the room.

About to go and help, Alfie felt a hard punch to his head, which had him spinning round to come face-to-face with a short, Mediterranean-looking man, holding a large knife. Undeterred, Alfie grabbed the chair next to him. He swung it round, hitting and opening the side of the man’s face who cried out in agony, but spurred on from the pain, the man, now covered in his own blood, threw his weight on top of Alfie, sending them both crashing to the floor.

Quickly, Alfie scrabbled along the polished floor on his knees, lunging forward to grab the man’s neck and twisting him round in a headlock. He forced his fingers into the man’s eyes until he heard the squelching of flesh. Panting, he shoved the man away and watched for a moment as he squirmed about on the floor in agony. Then Alfie barked, ‘You prick – who sent you? You think you can come into my club and try to scare off my punters? I’ll show you.’ Raising his fist ready to finish off the job, Alfie froze as a piercing scream filled the air. He turned and was shocked to see Charlie Eton – who he hadn’t realised was behind this until that very moment – standing and grinning as he held his machete against the neck of one of the girls.

Seeing the expression on everyone’s faces, Charlie filled the room with a wheezing laughter. ‘At least now I’ve got everyone’s attention …’ He stopped as he noticed Alfie on the far side of the club. ‘Hello there, Alf, good to see you. I thought for a moment I’d miss you …’ Charlie sniffed then drew the machete slowly down the woman’s chest.

‘Pretty little thing, isn’t she? I must say, Alf, you know how to pick your women.’

Alfie stood up, eyes firmly fixed on Charlie who walked slowly towards him. Alfie was aware that Vaughn, as well as the other men who worked for him, had been blindsided by Charlie’s attack.

‘Leave her alone, Charlie. I don’t know what this is about, but I do know your beef isn’t with her.’

Charlie Eton grinned again, his fat cheeks folding up in layers. ‘You’re right, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to cop a feel.’ Still holding the machete in one hand, Charlie’s other hand went under the woman’s skirt and between her legs. She shuddered in disgust, tears beginning to roll down her face as Charlie’s lardy fingers pulled and grabbed at her knickers.

Sliding his fingers inside her, a lecherous smirk on his face, he groaned in pleasure.

‘Mmmmm, that’s right baby, big daddy’s here. Does that feel good, sweetheart?’

Alfie’s face screwed up in rage. ‘For God’s sake, Charlie, let her go! Whatever it is you want, I’ll give it you. Just name it.’

‘Now that is a big promise, Alfie.’

Alfie, feeling desperate but trying to sound calm, said, ‘Please, Charlie. I’m begging you, just leave her alone. Come on, mate, what do you say?’ Getting no response, Alfie brought down his voice to a warm murmur. ‘Charlie. Charlie, for me … just let her go … as a favour, to me … you know what I’m talking about.’

A tiny flicker of acknowledgement passed over Charlie’s face for the briefest moment before it disappeared again. He considered the girl for a second, sneering, then pushed her forcefully aside, sending her flying into the bar and causing her to hit her head on the sharp corner.

Ignoring the blood now pouring from the girl’s head, Charlie stared hard at Alfie. A small vein pulsated on his temples. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I do know that you’re getting soft and maybe that’s why you think it’s okay to run this club right underneath my nose. You know me, I don’t like anyone taking away my business, so I thought I’d come and pay you a visit. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink, Alf?’

In the silence of the club, Alfie, feeling the pressure beginning to mount and knowing he had to play the game before someone got really hurt, walked behind the bar, his eyes still on Charlie, and grabbed a whiskey bottle off one of the silver shelves.

He unscrewed the top and poured a large measure into one of the glasses before walking back across to Charlie, offering him the drink as he struggled to control his trembling hands. ‘What are you on about? I’m not taking your business. We haven’t got the same clientele, and we certainly haven’t got the same kind of girls as you. I’d say yours were rather specialised, wouldn’t you?’

Knocking the whiskey back in one, Charlie winced as the burn of the drink reached the back of his throat. ‘You must be doing well if you can serve this stuff, which goes back to my point really. There isn’t room for two of us. Times are hard, it’s not like it used to be, so the way I see it is, I was here first.’

Fighting his sense of alarm, Alfie tried to play it down. ‘Come off it, Charlie.’

Charlie narrowed his eyes, giving Alfie a cold stare. ‘No, you come off it. You and I go back a long way, Alf, and that means something, so I’m going to do something I wouldn’t normally do; I’m going to give you a choice. You either shut this place down … or you work for me.’

Amazed, and knowing this was the last thing he needed to deal with, Alfie cut in. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Glancing around, Charlie smiled. ‘If you let me finish, Alf, then you might understand. The fact is that even I can see it’d be a shame to see this place closed down. I mean it’s got a bit of class; you and Vaughnie have done a good job with it. So, I reckon – and this is only because I like you, Alf – that if you kept this place open and do what you gentlemen do best, then we could split the profits, say seventy-thirty to me, then everyone’s laughing. Well, I will be anyway.’

Alfie spoke bitterly through gritted teeth, his head beginning to pound. ‘You’re having a bubble. I would never give you a penny.’

Straight-faced, Charlie lowered his voice, his tone toxic. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I’m afraid, Alf, whether you like it or not, you’ve got a decision to make … Let me know as soon as possible what you decide. The offer won’t be on the table for long.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘You’ve known me long enough to realise that wouldn’t be a good idea.’ Then without warning, Charlie purposefully dropped the empty glass he was holding onto the floor, shattering it into tiny fragments before inexplicably leaning forward to give Alfie a kiss on the cheek. ‘It’s good to see you, Alf, it really is. Next time we shouldn’t leave it so long.’ And with that Charlie turned and left, and as Alfie watched, stressed and tense, his mind wandered to the anonymous letters and a shadow of fear crossed his face.

Five minutes later, Alfie was running down Frith Street, pushing past a large crowd of Chinese tourists who were busily taking photos of the outside of Ronnie Scott’s jazz club with their iPhones.

Catching up to Charlie’s leisurely stroll, Alfie breathlessly blurted out his words. ‘Charlie, hold up. Wait! I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.’

Surrounded by his men, and looking surprised, Charlie turned around, beads of sweat pricking at his forehead, his overweight body heaving from the exertion.

‘I’ve already told you what the deal is, Alf, it’s non-negotiable. I’m not going to change my mind, but of course if you’ve already made a decision and you know what’s good for you, then I’m all ears.’

Turning pale, Alfie shook his head. ‘It’s not about that.’

Charlie shrugged his shoulders, the weight of his body making it look like a strain. ‘Then what?’

Glancing at Charlie’s men, Alfie stepped closer in, not wanting anyone but Charlie to hear. He spoke in what was almost a whisper. ‘Have you got them? Have you got them as well?’

Unable to fully turn his head to look at Alfie due to how close he was, Charlie, clearly curious whispered back, ‘Got what, Alf?’

‘You know: Have you got them?’

There was a long pause from Charlie before he said, ‘Are you asking what I think you’re asking? You want some young, fresh meat?’

Charlie’s words were like an electric shock to Alfie. He jumped back, staring at him in horror. ‘Jesus Christ, no! Who do you think I am? You know I’m not into that shit.’

Chuckling, Charlie spoke leeringly as he licked his lips. ‘Things change. People change. Tastes change.’

Wiping his face almost as if he could wipe the strain away, Alfie snapped, ‘Well not my tastes, and certainly not for that.’

Stepping back to let a kid on a bicycle go past, Charlie laughed, though his expression showed interest. ‘Then what are you talking about?’

‘I just … I just …’ With his hands in his jacket pockets, Alfie stopped, nervously curling his fingers around one of the anonymous letters he’d received last week. ‘I just … well I just wanted to know if you’d got them as well. If he’d sent …’

‘Got what, Alf? Sent what? For God’s sake, you aren’t making any sense.’

Retreating and feeling overwhelmed, Alfie, unable to bring himself to say what he wanted to, shook his head. ‘You know what, it doesn’t matter.’

Charlie stared at Alfie as he backed away. ‘Are you okay? You don’t look so good. In fact, mate, you look terrible.’

Feeling his heart race, Alfie shrugged. His voice was small. Tight. Strained. ‘I’m fine. Are you? Are you fine?’

‘Well I’m certainly not acting weird, if that’s what you mean.’

Almost in tears, Alfie gave the tiniest of headshakes. ‘You know it’s not, Charlie, but you know exactly what I’m talking about. You know why I’m asking if you’re okay.’

Again, another flicker of acknowledgement crossed Charlie’s face and again, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Then matching Alfie’s small, strained voice, Charlie mimicked, ‘No, Alf, I don’t know. I have no idea what you’re talking about, and if you want my advice, I’d lay off whatever it is you’re sticking up your nose. I’ll see you around … Oh, and make sure you come to that decision soon.’

As Charlie quickly turned around, feeling a stab of anxiety, he knew exactly what Alfie Jennings had been talking about.

At the same time as Alfie Jennings was heading back to his club, Franny was on the other side of town. Panicked, she hurried along the deserted street that ran parallel to King Henry’s Dock in Woolwich, checking behind her every few yards as she made a right turn into Ruston Road.

As she crossed a small bit of wasteland, a loud rustling noise coming from near the derelict warehouse startled her. Her chest went tight, and her breathing became shallow as she nervously took a step back, crouching down behind a large discarded oil drum and feeling the chill of the wind coming from off the river Thames.

Hearing the noise again, Franny tried to slow down her breathing, desperate to stop panic overwhelming her. She pushed herself further against the rusty oil drum, not moving for fear of being seen by whoever it was. She stayed crouching for a moment, listening carefully. There it was, and it seemed like it was getting nearer.

Trembling and bracing herself, she slowly peered around the drum, still trying to keep herself as far back as she could, but suddenly she let out a long sigh of relief as a brown, mangey cat rummaged in a pile of rubbish.

Standing up, relieved but annoyed with herself at how on edge she was, Franny felt her phone vibrate. Quickly pulling it out of the pocket of her beige suede jacket, she saw it was Alfie. She ignored it, but it rang again … And again. Deciding it was better to take the call, Franny took a deep breath, answering as casually as she could.

‘Hey, Alfie! You okay? How’s it going?’

‘How many frigging times does it take for you to answer?’

Sensing the irritation in his voice, Franny held her own temper and kept her tone as light as possible. She trilled at him. ‘Sorry, babe, I didn’t hear it. Anyway, what’s up?’

‘Where are you?’

Absentmindedly, Franny spun around, staring at the small new-build block of flats in front of her. She could hear the tension coming into her own voice. ‘Me? Where am I?’

‘Well who else do you thinking I’m talking to?’

‘I’m … I’m …’

On the other end of the line, Alfie impatiently cut in. ‘Look, it don’t matter. Just get yourself down to the club straightaway. We’ve had a bit of trouble. How long will you be anyway?’

Awkwardly, Franny said, ‘The thing is, Alf, I’m a bit busy right now. I mean, do you really need me? Can’t you and Vaughn handle whatever it is?’

There was a long pause and Franny could hear Alfie’s breathing down the phone as he seethed. Eventually he spoke.

‘Listen to me, Fran, I ain’t in the mood for this, so whatever the hell it is that you’re doing at this time of night: having a bath, painting your toenails, watching a bit of Netflix … I. Don’t. Care. Because all I care about is you getting yourself down here asap. Understand?’

‘Alfie, like I say …’

Franny frowned at her phone as Alfie cut off the call. Sighing, she glanced at the time. It was just gone one-thirty in the morning. The night-time traffic in London was almost as bad as it was during the day, so she knew it’d take her at least an hour and a half to get back to Soho, and by that time, she had no doubt Alfie would be gunning for her, and that was even before Vaughn got involved. As she saw it, it would be pointless even trying to rush back and pretend she’d just been in the bath. And okay, when she did finally get there, Alfie would have a hundred and one questions for her. Still, what else could she do? She’d just have to man up and face that when she saw him, but for now, she figured she might as well stay and do what she was here to do, because after all, she was already in trouble. Big trouble.

With her mind made up, Franny defiantly turned off her phone, shoving it back into her pocket as she headed for the row of maisonettes across the road. She tried to push the thought of Alfie, and the guilt, from her mind.

5

Realising she’d forgotten to bring the key, Franny pressed the silver buzzer on the black wooden door, checking over her shoulder nervously. Getting no answer and not wanting to stand there longer than she had to, Franny pressed again agitatedly, holding down the buzzer this time as she stared directly at the doorbell camera. A second later, she heard the click of the lock and she hurried into the communal entrance where another door just in front of her sprung open, taking her into a private stairwell that led up into a bright, spacious flat overlooking the Thames.

Bree Dwyer stood smiling at Franny. ‘Thank you for coming.’

Forcing down her irritation, knowing that a lot of it was caused by her own guilt, something her father had always tried to teach her not to feel, Franny smiled as she looked back at Bree. ‘No problem, it was just a bit difficult to get away. I’m not in the best of moods because Alfie …’

Bree cut in, concern etched across her face. ‘Is he okay?’

Franny nodded as she took off her jacket at the same time as noticing how much weight Bree was losing. ‘He’s fine, just under a bit of pressure, like we all are. You know how it is.’

Bree’s big blue eyes widened. ‘So, what’s wrong with him?’

With her irritation returning, Franny, not wanting to be reminded of Alfie, snapped, ‘I said he’s fine. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about him, I’m here to see you, and of course …’ Franny trailed off and turned around, walking across to the pink cot in the corner of the room. She bent over the hand-carved bar rails. ‘… And of course, this little one.’

Behind Franny, Bree ran her hand through her long blonde hair as she rolled her eyes. She spoke wearily. ‘She’s only just got to sleep, Fran. Leave her, will you?’

Ignoring Bree, Franny scooped the baby into her arms, bringing her in to her chest, stroking her silky mass of hair. ‘Don’t be stupid, she’s fine; she can sleep anytime.’

‘You don’t have to snap. I was only saying.’

Rubbing her head, knowing that she shouldn’t really take how she was feeling out on Bree, Franny tried to sound warmer. ‘Then don’t make it difficult for me to see her every time I come here, because unfortunately for me, I can only get away at certain times. You’re not looking so good by the way. I hope you’re looking after yourself. You can’t get ill. What would happen to Mia if you did?’

Bree gave a tight smile as she gathered up Mia’s cuddly toys from the floor. ‘Like I said before, I’m eating fine, but maybe if I was able to get out now and then, get some sunshine, perhaps I’d feel better. I feel like a prisoner here, Fran. It feels like I’m back in my old life.’

Triggered again, Franny’s hostility returned as she stared at Bree, seeing the dark rings underneath her eyes. The old life that Bree was referring to was with her ex-husband, Johnny, who along with his mother, Ma Dwyer, had abused Bree and kept her a virtual slave. And it’d been when she was still married to him, and on one of the few occasions he had let Bree out, that Bree had bumped into Alfie after not seeing him since she was a teenager.

Though what happened next was something that none of them could’ve predicted. Alfie believed that Franny had left him and stolen his and Vaughn’s money, and wasn’t coming back, and Bree was desperate for someone to take care of her. Alfie and Bree had quickly got together, wanting each other to help heal their broken hearts.

And of course, it had been a shock. A real shock when she had finally returned to Essex to explain the truth to Alfie about what had really happened with his money, to find out that he had already set up with Bree. It had felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Hurting her more than she cared to admit. So she had done what she always did when something hurt her; she had put up her defenses, coming across as cold and unfeeling. And she was good at doing that. What she wasn’t good at was feeling, and especially feeling hurt. But being numb to pain was just how she liked it, and that way it was easier for her to forgive Alfie for breaking her heart.

Surprisingly, amid the mess of it all, her and Bree’s friendship had blossomed and when Bree had discovered she was pregnant, more than likely with Alfie’s baby – though there was a possibility it was Johnny’s – Bree had been somewhere between happy and scared.

Bree had told her that she wanted the baby but hadn’t wanted the lifestyle that came with Alfie, and she of all people had understood that, because even though she’d been born into this life of crime, there were times, many times, that she wished she could get away herself.

Her heart had gone out to Bree, and of course she’d wanted to help, but both of them knew if Bree did go through with the pregnancy, Alfie would never just let her leave with his child to get on with life as she wanted to. So they’d, or rather she’d come up with the plan to allow Bree to have her baby in peace. And it’d seemed so simple at first: tell Alfie that Bree had lost the baby, and then afterwards she would help Bree get a flat so she could get on with her life, and she would get on with her life with Alfie, and everything would go back to the way it was. Though the best laid plans always had a way of messing up.

And the way she saw it, Bree had a lot to do with it all going wrong by not having the patience to see this out. All Bree seemed to do now was put pressure on her, something she just didn’t need.

Sighing with exasperation, Franny snapped again, ‘What are you talking about? Why are you talking about being a prisoner? This is nothing like your old life. You’ve got everything here. And don’t forget you were part of this plan as much as I was. You agreed to it all. I never forced you, Bree, you wanted this. But now you’re making out like I’m the bad guy here.’

‘I’m not. It’s just that before Mia was born, it was okay staying here, but it’s got worse and worse. This wasn’t the plan, Franny, this …’

‘You’re right, this wasn’t the plan, because the plan never included you being so ungrateful.’

Bree’s face crumpled. ‘I am grateful, Franny, though whether you like it or not, I’m a virtual prisoner. You’ve got to see this is messed up. It isn’t right.’

Franny cut in, refusing to feel guilty when all she was doing was trying to help. Her anger rose as she bounced Mia gently on her shoulder. ‘What I see is I’ve put everything on the line for you. I pay everything for you, I’ve even got Vaughn wanting to go through the accounts because I’ve been taking money from the club right under their noses. And you know as well as I do that if Alfie found out what I’d done, he’d kill me. You do realise that don’t you? But all I seem to get from you is complaints. What do you want from me, Bree? Don’t you understand how much I’m risking by doing all this? I’ve literally done everything possible to make your life easier, and all it’s done is make my life harder. Jesus, Bree, I’m even paying for your other daughter to go to boarding school in Ireland until … well until you get your life sorted.’

‘You mean, until Alfie goes away.’

Angrily, Franny nodded. ‘Yeah, I do mean that, but that’s just the way it is.’

‘But he may never decide to go. Have you thought about that? And what then? Am I supposed to be stuck here forever?’

Fuming, her tension headache returning, Franny’s face turned red. ‘For Christ’s sake, Bree, don’t whine. Alfie will go, just trust me.’

‘How?’

‘Look, I’m working on it okay? That’s all you need to know, and then you can have all the freedom you want, but for now I’m doing this to not only protect myself but you as well. I’m protecting you, Bree, never forget that.’

The two women fell silent, but Franny continued to stare hard at Bree, resenting the pressure she was under.

In one way she understood what Bree was saying, but unfortunately, these things took time. She knew Alfie needed to go away and that’s why she’d kept encouraging him, but she had to be clever about it; Alfie wasn’t stupid, and Bree complaining about it wasn’t going to make it happen any quicker.

She just wished Bree could stop being so selfish and realise she was doing all this for her. All this because of Bree … and of course Mia … yes, baby Mia, she would do anything for her, which in itself was strange, because she didn’t think she’d ever get attached to a baby … To Mia.

She’d never cared that she wasn’t able to have children herself, and she’d certainly never felt anything like love for other people’s children, until now that was. And it made her feel odd, as if she wasn’t in control of her own emotions – which she was always able to keep in check. But somehow, Mia felt part of her, and she honestly didn’t know why, but what she did know was that, for Mia’s sake, she had to make this situation work. But it was getting more and more difficult by the day, and she could feel the pressure coming in from every angle. Vaughn, who didn’t trust her before, trusted her even less now. He was on to her big time.

But whatever happened, she knew Alfie could never find out what she was doing. He would kill her, and not just say it or threaten it, he would actually go through with it. Although she was a woman, she knew the rules of the life they led. Betrayal and lies came with consequences.

But she’d sacrificed too much already for it to go wrong now, and besides, what would Mia do without her? Yes, she had Bree, but Mia needed someone stronger than Bree to look out for her in life. Loving her was one thing, but loving her and being strong was something entirely different.

Trying not to let her exasperation get the better of her, Franny broke the silence. ‘Bree, have a little bit more patience, okay? It’s going to work out one way or another so just try to remember that everything’s for you. Everything I’m doing here is for you.’

‘I wonder sometimes.’

Infuriated by Bree again, Franny paced the floor. Her voice was scornful as she asked, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Looking pale, Bree swallowed hard before speaking quietly. ‘You’re always so angry with me and you seem … you seem to be more interested in Mia than me.’

Franny walked across to Bree and leant down into her face. ‘Are you being serious? Are you really jealous of a baby?’

Bree shook her head. ‘No of course not! I’m not saying that.’

‘Then what are you saying?’

‘It’s just that you seem different from when we started all this. We were friends and now … I just don’t know how to explain it.’

Guilt and stress and uncertainty rushed through Franny. ‘Maybe because it’s bullshit and there is nothing to explain. You need to grow up, Bree, and appreciate what’s around you, and if you haven’t realised already, this is a really difficult situation I’m in. Don’t forget, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have Mia. You were happy to run off and get an abortion.’

The shock on Bree’s face didn’t mar her beauty but the sadness in her eyes shadowed it. ‘Franny, please don’t say that. It wasn’t like that, you know I was desperate. I didn’t want to bring a child into the life that Alfie leads. All the violence, all the crime. The people that come with it. All the drugs and guns, even the money laundering he does, well it all comes at a price. It’s dangerous and I know what it’s like to live in fear and I didn’t want to bring a baby into that. I know it was you who helped me, but being cooped up here, it’s difficult. The only person I see is you. I just want to go out, even to the park.’

Playing with Mia’s tiny fingers, Franny shook her head. ‘I’ve already told you, we can’t risk it, not at the moment.’

Wrapping her blue silk dressing gown round her, Bree appealed, ‘When then?’

As Mia started to become grizzly, Franny rocked her, the sound of her cries filling the room. ‘The subject’s closed, okay? I don’t want to talk about it so just drop it, Bree.’

‘Then maybe it would be better if we just told Alf …’

Franny angrily interrupted, ‘If we told him? If we told him that we went behind his back, that we’ve lied to him, that we’ve been taking money from the business so you can stay here? Are you stupid?’

‘No, I … I … all I’m really trying to say is look around you, Franny; we’re in the middle of nowhere, no one will see me if I go out, and if anyone did find out, I’d never say it was you. I’d never say you were involved.’

Franny gave Bree a cold stare. ‘Bree, unlike you, Alfie’s not stupid. He knows you had no money, no real family, and suddenly you have a flat and your daughter’s in a good school. He’ll know someone helped you, and it won’t be long before he works out that someone was me.’

‘Then what about Mia? It’s not good for her to be kept inside like this.’

‘She’s fine.’

‘No, she’s not. I know what’s best for her, Franny, she is my baby.’

With the expression on her face tight and taut, Franny walked across to Bree, gently giving Mia back to her. She glared at Bree before picking up her jacket to turn away, but at the door Franny stopped, speaking quietly. ‘No, Bree, you’re wrong, she isn’t just yours. You can’t push me out of her life that easily.’

6

Shannon trembled as Charlie stood above her in the back room of his club. She was stoned, but not so stoned she hadn’t felt the hard kicking Charlie had just given her. The blood ran from her mouth as she gazed up at him. ‘I’ll do some more okay? I’ll work harder, I promise, Char.’

The boot to the side of her head sent her flying back against the table and the ringing in her ear almost muted out what Charlie was screaming at her. ‘Too fucking late! You call yourself family and then you have the cheek just to hand me four hundred quid! You cheeky bitch. I can’t believe it. I mean, there’s me thinking that you’re pulling your weight and it turns out you’re just mugging me off … Four hundred quid for a whole day’s work.’

In serious pain, Shannon hugged her knees to her chest as she sat against the wall. ‘I tried, I really did.’

Charlie’s bellow filled the entire room as he charged towards Shannon, lifting her up from the floor by her hair. He stuffed the money she’d given him into her mouth, pushing it down her throat, making her gag, making her face turn from red to blue. Her eyes opened wide in terror as she struggled to breathe.

‘Tried! Are you being funny? All you have to do is open your mouth or open your legs and bingo! You hardly have to be a frigging genius, but what you want is a free ride ain’t it, Shan? You don’t want to do any work. You’re taking the piss because you think I’m soft for family. Well think again, darlin’, because I warned you before about handing over this sort of money.’ He shook her hard, and her head flicked back and forth, before he dropped her back on the floor, watching in disgust as she vomited up the contents of her stomach along with the money he’d stuffed in her mouth.

Void of any sympathy, Charlie raged, ‘I hope you’re going to clear that up. This ain’t a free boarding house, Shannon. You’re no better than a dirty dog.’

Pulling off her top and quickly trying to clean up the vomit with it, Shannon nodded fearfully. ‘I know, Char, and I’m really sorry … Look, there, that’s better, it’s gone. It’s all clean now.’

Charlie crouched down to Shannon, curling up his nose at the smell of bile. ‘Stop the crying, for God’s sake. I don’t know what you expect me to do, Shan. I mean, seriously, tell me how I’m supposed to pay for all you girls, and pay for this place and all the other expenses I have, when all you give me for a day’s work is this?’

Unable to stop crying, Shannon wiped her mouth with her top, which was now covered in vomit and dirt. Mucus and snot stuck to her cheek. Then looking so much younger than her sixteen years, she trembled, gazing at Charlie through her swollen, black eye. ‘Char, I’m so sorry, you got to believe me. I won’t do it again.’

Grabbing another handful of Shannon’s hair, Charlie pushed his face onto hers. He spoke in a hiss. ‘You say that every time, and every time I give you another chance. Maybe if you spent less time sucking that crack pipe and more time sucking cock, there wouldn’t be a problem.’

Shannon nodded her head, but she flinched as Charlie pulled her hair harder and continued to talk. ‘It’s no good, Shan. If I give you special treatment, all the other girls will want special treatment too, and I can’t be doing with that. I can’t do with the grief, so you need to say ta-ta.’

Shock crossed Shannon’s face, her eyes full of fear. ‘What … what are you talking about?’

Standing up, Charlie wiped his hands on his tailor-made dark blue jeans. ‘I’m letting you go, Shan, I’m not anybody’s mug.’

Panicked, Shannon crawled towards Charlie, grappling at his trouser leg. ‘Please, please, Uncle Charlie, I’ll try harder. I’ll do anything you want, just please don’t get rid of me.’

Trying to shake her off his leg, Charlie bellowed. ‘For God’s sake, get up!’

Shannon continued to beg, her voice becoming louder and more high-pitched as hysteria set in. ‘No! No, Char, please. I love you. I don’t want to go, please don’t make me go, I want to stay here and work for you. Please, Uncle Charlie, I’m sorry.’

Turning to one of his men who was sitting reading a magazine in the corner, Charlie spoke abrasively. ‘Get her out of here, Frank, now!’

Whereupon, Frank picked up Shannon – who scratched and fought like a tomcat – and took her outside to the dark streets of Soho, dumping her still crying and half naked in the alleyway.

‘Do you have to do that shit?’ A few streets away in the empty club in Sutton Row, Vaughn stared at Alfie as he hoovered up another line of finely cut cocaine.

Standing up straight, Alfie squeezed his nostrils between his fingers as the powder burnt the inside of his nose. He glanced at Vaughn, feeling the numbness at the back of his throat as he spoke. ‘I get enough grief from Franny, I don’t need you acting like me mother as well. Just lighten up – it’s a few lines, that’s all. Maybe you need to take a toot, help you chill out more.’

Grabbing Alfie’s expensive shirt, Vaughn twisted him around. Both their handsome faces screwed up in rage as they stared at each other, full of hostility. Vaughn’s green eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t need to get out of me head and neither do you. In case that shit has made you forget, we’ve got a problem with Charlie, and I’m not talking about the stuff you put up your nose.’

Pushing Vaughn’s hands away, and biting down the rising feeling of stress, Alfie glared. ‘I know what we have, and winding yourself up more ain’t going to help.’

‘Oh, and that shit is, is it?’

Exasperated, Alfie walked around the bar to pour himself a glass of vodka, trying to even out the buzz of the coke. ‘Look, let’s just wait for Franny, and then we can decide what we’re going to do.’

Vaughn laughed scornfully as he tapped his special-edition diamond Rolex. ‘It’s twenty past three, mate. Franny ain’t coming – not here, anyway …’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Vaughn looked immaculate – despite the altercation with Charlie’s men earlier – in his silk grey shirt and Jacob Cohen jeans. He sat down on the bar stool. ‘You called Franny almost two hours ago and she’s still not here. Don’t you get it?’

Aggravated, partly by Vaughn and partly by the fact that the cocaine wasn’t giving him the high he wanted, the pulse on Alfie’s jaw began to throb. ‘Get what?’

‘What do you think she’s been doing?’

Alfie shrugged. ‘She was in the bath, or doing her nails, all that crap that girls like to do.’

Bemused, Vaughn stared at Alfie, his voice mocking. ‘Is that what she said? Is that what she told you?’

‘Well kind of, she said that …’ Alfie trailed off, remembering that Franny hadn’t actually told him anything. ‘Look, does it matter what she said? She’ll be here.’

Reaching for the bowl of cashew nuts, Vaughn popped one into his mouth. He pointed at Alfie. ‘Yes, actually it does matter. If she was at home when you called, why isn’t she here already? Even me old mum could walk it in fifteen minutes, let alone Franny.’

‘You need to back off – that’s my woman you’re talking about, and I don’t like what you’re getting at.’

Not interested in doing anything near to backing off, Vaughn continued. ‘I don’t like it meself, but she ain’t to be trusted. You know that, but you just don’t want to admit it.’

Knocking back the vodka and immediately pouring himself another drink, Alfie said, ‘You’ve just got it in for her. Ever since she took that money, you’ve been looking for something to hang on her.’

‘Well do you blame me? She’s screwed us over once and she’s capable of doing that again.’

Angrily, Alfie threw the glass to the side. He rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘She ain’t like that.’

‘Oh, please, Alf, that’s exactly what you said last time, yet she took two million quid right from under our noses.’

‘She did that to save her family.’

‘Whatever the reason she still did it and even to this day we ain’t got our money back. Wake up, son, and see what’s in front of your face.’

Trying his hardest not to grab Vaughn and give him a good hiding, Alfie slammed his fist down on the bar. ‘First off, never call me son, and secondly where do you get off trying to cause trouble? Don’t get me wrong, it pissed me off as well and it caused us a whole load of grief, but just cos someone’s late don’t mean they’re up to no good. Fuck me, that would mean most of the population at one time or another were mugging each other off.’

Vaughn snorted with derision. ‘Why all of a sudden the rose-tinted glasses, eh? You need to smash those fuckers up and see what’s going on in front of your nose.’

‘So where’s your proof then? You ain’t got any have you?’

‘If you must know I heard her on the phone earlier, telling someone not to call her. She was well agitated. She’s up to something.’

Alfie fell silent as he sat in the empty club trying to process what Vaughn was telling him. There was no way Franny would go behind his back. Mug him off. Do the dirty. No way at all. Okay, she’d taken the money but as he kept telling Vaughn, that was different. It was to save somebody’s life. He couldn’t be angry for that. And it’d been a one-off. In all the time he’d known her, over all the years, she’d never once given him reason to mistrust her. He was the one not to be trusted. Him, not her. He’d been the one who’d broken Franny’s heart with Bree. He’d also been the one who’d slept about at the beginning of their relationship and he’d been the one who’d gambled money and invested in projects without telling her. But her? Franny? No, she was loyal. Loving. Faithful … Honest. Yes, she could also be cold and hard, but that was only because of the way she’d been brought up among the gangsters and faces of London. She wouldn’t have survived or made it to the top any other way than being the way she was, which meant at times she had to be ruthless, but none of that equated to her hurting him or Vaughn, none of it spelt that she was going to betray him in any way, and it pissed him off that Vaughn thought it was okay to insinuate that. ‘Wind your neck in and shut the fuck up about Franny.’

‘I will, when you can tell me where she is, because clearly she ain’t at home. If you ask me …’

Cutting in straightaway, Alfie roared, ‘I didn’t ask you, so leave it!’

Vaughn’s eyes glinted with anger. ‘I know you didn’t, but I’m telling you anyway. She’s obviously boning someone at the same time as planning to rip us all off.’

That was it. Unable to control his temper any longer, Alfie dived over the bar, grabbing hold of Vaughn, bringing his fist hard into his face. ‘Say that again and I’ll kill you. You hear me?’

He banged Vaughn’s head against the bar but, undeterred, Vaughn fought back. His face red, his words harsh.

‘So go on then, Alf, tell me where she is. Tell me where she fucking is!’

‘Where’s who?’ Franny stood at the entrance of the club, looking at the two men. She gave a small smile to Alfie before walking up to kiss him, then turning to Vaughn, her gaze full of hatred, she said, ‘Where’s who, Vaughn? I hope you weren’t talking about me?’

‘Where’ve you been, Franny?’ Vaughn smirked as he questioned her.

Calmly, but with her heart racing, Franny answered him. ‘I’ve been at home, doing me nails.’

Alfie, having let go of Vaughn, pushed his fringe out of his eyes. ‘Told you.’

‘Let’s see then.’

Incredulously, Franny continued to glare at Vaughn, her chest tightening as she tried to keep down the panic. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Let’s see your nails.’

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

Slowly, Vaughn sauntered across to Franny. He grabbed her hands roughly and examined them.

‘Don’t look like you’ve been doing your nails to me.’

Locking eyes with Vaughn, Franny pulled her hands away. Her voice icy cold, she said, ‘I did my toenails. What? Are you going to pull off my shoes now to see my polish?’

Matching Franny’s animosity, Vaughn nodded. ‘If I have to.’

From behind Vaughn, Alfie stepped in. ‘Of course he’s not. Not unless he wants to go through me. Well do you? Cos I’m in the mood for a fight now.’

Turning to Alfie, Franny shook her head. ‘Alfie, don’t. He ain’t worth it. He’s got a problem with me because of what I did. I get that, but it’s stupid to fight among ourselves.’

‘How noble of you.’

Ignoring Vaughn, Franny continued to speak to Alfie. ‘I’m sorry I took so long – I wasn’t feeling so great – but I’m here now and I’m all ears.’

As Alfie went to sit down, Franny followed but was held back by Vaughn grabbing her arm. He whispered in her ear, ‘You and I both know you weren’t at home, and I’ll find out what you’re up to, Franny Doyle, and then I’m going to bring you down and watch you burn like a towering fucking inferno.’

Half an hour later, Alfie, agitated, having explained what had happened with Charlie said, ‘So that’s the bottom line, Fran, it’s a fucking mess. The last thing we want to do is fork out money to him, but at the same time, no one wants a war. This is already going to have a knock-on effect with the punters. Who’s going to want to come to a club when there’s a possibility of some fucker coming through the door with a machete?’

Taking a sip of her lemonade, Franny, not looking the best herself and having listened intently to what Alfie had been saying asked, ‘But can’t you talk to him, Alf? You’ve known him since you were kids. You two used to hang out together.’

Fighting being distracted by what Vaughn had said about her, Alfie shrugged, hating the fact that jealousy and doubt were beginning to creep over him. Everything seemed like it was out of control, and he didn’t like that feeling one little bit. ‘When we were little, and that don’t hold any weight anymore – not really. This is Charlie we’re talking about. Once he’s made up his mind, that’s it. It proper feels like we’ve been snookered. Have an all-out war with the geezer or …’

Vaughn interrupted, his gaze firmly on Franny as it had been for the last half an hour, wanting to make her feel as uncomfortable as possible. ‘You’re not thinking about actually paying him, are you? Cos that ain’t ever going to happen on my watch, Alf. This is my business as well, and I’m not handing my money over to some nonce.’

With the stress beginning to weigh heavy, Alfie slammed his fist on the bar in front of him. ‘Do I look fucking stupid? We just have to work out another agreement with him, cos he ain’t going away. If we can bring down how much he wants …’

Vaughn snapped, ‘I already told you, that’s not going to happen. Look, I think the best thing we can do is get some kip. We’ll talk tomorrow when we’re all thinking straight … Oh and, Franny, don’t forget I want to go over those accounts with you.’

Back in Soho Square, in the large, cream and gold decorated bedroom of Alfie and Franny’s townhouse, Alfie lay on the king-size bed, smiling at Franny as she got undressed. He’d decided he wasn’t going to tell her what Vaughn had been saying about her. It was stupid for him to even get wound up by it. No doubt the cocaine, useless as it was, had played a part in his paranoia. In all that was happening. The letters. The club. Franny was his constant. Beautiful and loyal, but more importantly, Franny was his, all his, and no one was going to try to tell him otherwise. But as Alfie watched Franny climb onto the bed, a sudden unease crossed over him as his gaze wandered down to her feet and he noticed her unpolished toenails.

7

It was just past 6am and Alfie couldn’t sleep. Hadn’t slept. Though it was less about the cocaine that ran around his veins and more about the feelings that rushed around his body.

He’d stayed awake all night watching Franny sleep fretfully, tossing and turning, and it’d taken all his willpower not to wake her up and ask her a thousand questions about the truth of where she’d actually been. More to the point, who she’d been with. Shit. Shit … He hated feeling like this. Jealousy was not something he wanted to deal with; the last time he was jealous, he’d done someone a serious injury.

He didn’t have the headspace to cope with it, not on top of everything else. Jesus, this was the last thing he needed, and part of him was pissed off with Vaughn for making him feel like this. The man hadn’t had any solid evidence about anything, yet he’d just piled a whole heap of doubt in his head.

Annoyed, Alfie got up and pulled on a pair of jeans and a jumper. He needed to get some fresh air. Lying in bed thinking was only making everything worse – a lot worse – and the last thing he wanted to do was have a blowout row with Franny.

After striding outside, Alfie stood, leaning against the wall, taking long, deep drags on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the wall of Barclays bank, situated on the corner of Greek Street. He felt the chill of the early morning air as he watched a dustcart speed down the road, seeing it scrape against the wing mirror of a badly parked black cab, but it was good to get out.

Turning away and immediately lighting another cigarette, Alfie crossed the street, heading for one of the cafés in Rathbone Place to get himself a coffee.

He couldn’t think straight. Maybe he should get away. As much as it was good to be back in Soho, especially this particular part of it – the small square a hideaway from the bustle of the West End – it hadn’t brought him the peace of mind he’d hoped for. Everything was becoming a mess. The letters. The tension between Vaughn and Franny. And now Charlie had his dog in the fight, it was becoming one big fucking nightmare. And as much as he hated to admit it, he just wanted to run.

Maybe it was best if he threw in the towel at the club, or maybe like Franny had suggested, he should go and speak to Charlie on his own. There was a lot of history between Charlie and him. There was even a time when he’d helped Charlie out and he’d never asked anything in return. So maybe – though it would rile him to have to – if he went and really pulled the favour card, then maybe Charlie might think again … Fuck, he didn’t know what he … A sound broke into his thoughts. He spun around. The street was now deserted but he waited for a moment, trying not to let his jumpiness overwhelm him.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down, steadying his breathing before continuing to walk, but then he stopped again, listening intently … There it was, and it was coming from over there. He stared at the trees in the near corner of Soho Square Gardens. He could see someone hiding there.

His heart thumped and prickles of sweat beaded on his forehead as he walked towards the black gates of the gardens, which were still locked, but he knew another way in. Alfie walked around to the south side, climbing up on the bench, which gave him easy access to vault over the railings.

Cautiously, he walked towards the middle of the square, creeping around the back of the mock-Tudor, black and white timber building in the centre of the gardens. Feeling the cosh in his pocket, Alfie brought it out as he slunk along.

He listened again for the sound, and making sure nobody was behind him, he followed the noise, creeping past the trees and shrubs to crouch down behind the old oak in the corner of the square as the mist of the early morning lifted.

Still gripping the cosh tightly, Alfie craned around the corner of the large and gnarled tree trunk. Taken aback he stared, placing the club back into his pocket. ‘Jesus, are you all right?’

Shannon Mulligan stared at the man, dried blood and crusty mucus caked onto her face. She squinted through her swollen black eye as she shivered with cold, her words slightly muffled as her torn lip made it difficult for her to speak. ‘I’m fine.’

He moved nearer, crouching down to the girl. ‘You don’t look it, love – is there anybody you want me to call?’

Shannon shook her head, wishing the person would just disappear. She wasn’t in the mood for chat, especially from some posh-looking geezer. Not that he sounded posh; he sounded as common as she did. Still it was obvious by the way he dressed that he had a bit of money.

Looking worried, Alfie spoke again. ‘Please, there must be something I can do.’

‘Yeah, piss off!’

Unoffended and clearly not one to be put off, he tried again. ‘Have you been here all night? Look, you can’t stay here.’

A flash of annoyance crossed Shannon’s face. ‘I can do what I bleedin’ want, mate – who are you anyway, the park police? No, you ain’t, so now you’ve done your do-gooding, you can fuck right off and leave me alone.’

He grinned. ‘Fiery ain’t you?’

‘Nosy, ain’t you?’

‘What’s your name?’

Shannon curled up her face in a sneer but instantaneously regretted it as pain shot through her injured lip. ‘What’s yours?’

‘I’m Alfie.’

Shannon shrugged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Well that’s very nice for you, now like I said before, Alfie, can you piss off?’

‘You look cold.’ And without waiting for a reply, Alfie took off his jacket and tried to wrap it round Shannon’s shoulders, but she scurried away, pushing herself back against the tree. ‘My name ain’t Oxfam, you know. I don’t need your skanky jacket.’

Alfie laughed. The jacket in question had cost him a couple of grand. At the thought of it, he laughed again, something he couldn’t remember doing for a long time. ‘Then why don’t you just tell me your name, and after that, I can buy you a cup of tea. You’ve made me laugh, which I can’t remember doing for a long time, so it’s the least I can do for you.’

Shannon scowled. ‘Am I some sort of fucking joke to you?’

Lighting up yet another cigarette, Alfie shook his head. ‘No, of course not. I like you, that’s all.’

‘Weirdo, you don’t even know me. You going to give me one of them or what?’ Shannon gestured to Alfie’s cigarettes. He handed her the box and with her dirty, bitten-down fingernails she grabbed one eagerly, putting it into her swollen mouth before allowing Alfie to light it for her.

‘So, are you going to let me buy you something to eat then?’

Shannon, feeling more at ease with this stranger, cocked her head as she looked at Alfie. ‘No, but you could give me a tenner.’

‘Why do you want a tenner?’

‘Cos I ain’t got one.’

Going into his pocket, Alfie pulled out a wad of money. He winked at her. ‘That’s a good enough reason as any. I like a person who can be straight.’

Amazed, Shannon said, ‘You’re really going to give me ten quid?’

‘Yeah, that’s what you asked for isn’t it?’

She looked at Alfie suspiciously. ‘I’m not giving you a blow job if that’s what you’re after; for starters I charge twenty quid, but anyhow, my mouth hurts too much to do it.’

Alfie shook his head sadly. ‘No, darlin’, that’s not what I’m looking for … I tell you what, why don’t you take this.’

‘Fifty quid!’ Shannon looked at the money and then at Alfie, then back at the money before saying, ‘You really are weird, mate. Is this how you get off, get your kicks?’

Alfie laughed again. ‘It certainly isn’t.’

‘But no one gives money away for nothing.’

It was Alfie’s turn to shrug. ‘I do. Go on, darlin’, just take it.’

As he pushed the money into her hand, caught underneath the ten-pound notes was a piece of paper. It fluttered down to the muddy ground. Frowning, Alfie picked it up but when he did so he physically recoiled as if an electric bolt had gone through him. His head swam, and a wave of nausea passed over him. He’d forgotten he had one of the letters in his pocket.

Spotting the change in Alfie’s demeanour, and seeing how ashen he’d suddenly become, Shannon asked, ‘What’s that?’

Beginning to tremble, Alfie rubbed his chest, feeling the familiar tightness return as a cold sweat ran down his back. Scrunching the letter up and pushing it as far down in the pocket of his jeans as possible, Alfie tried to sound as casual as he could. ‘Nothing … it’s … it’s just a letter.’

‘Must be something bad to make you look like that. You’ve gone proper pale, mate. Go on, what is it?’

Glancing back at her, Alfie pulled himself together. ‘Now who’s the nosy one?’

Something like a shy smile touched the corners of Shannon’s mouth. It was the first time anyone had been nice to her in longer than she could remember. In fact, when she really thought about it, apart from Charlie giving her the odd free rock of crack now and then, there’d been no one in her life who had been particularly kind to her. The only thing she remembered of her mother was her being out of it on heroin. And as for her auntie who took her in, well, she would hardly describe her as the warmest of women.

Not wanting to think too much about the past, Shannon turned her attention back to Alfie, wiping her nose on the back of her hand as flakes of dried blood fell out of her nostrils. ‘Suit yourself, don’t tell me then.’

Changing the subject completely, Alfie asked, ‘How old are you anyway?’

Shannon paused, contemplating her reply, before confidently saying, ‘I’m twenty.’

‘You look younger than that.’

Trying to appear casual, Shannon shrugged again. ‘You asked me how old I was, not how old I looked, and I couldn’t care less if you believe me or not.’

Feeling the twinge in his knee from crouching, Alfie stood up. ‘Okay, well if I can’t persuade you to let me buy you a cup of tea, I’ll be off … But look after yourself, little miss nameless, and like I say, I’m Alfie, and if you ever need a chat or just somewhere to have a drink, pop into my club. It’s on Sutton Row. It’s just before you get to the corner of Falconberg Mews … And here, if you won’t take my jacket at least take my jumper. It’s going to be cold today.’

Back in Woolwich, Bree had made up her mind. Even though it was cold, the sun was shining through the window, and there was no way she was going to spend yet another afternoon cooped up inside.

Yes, she’d promised Franny not to go out, but then Franny had promised her that the days wouldn’t run into weeks and the weeks wouldn’t run into months. What was she expected to do? And besides, it wasn’t hurting anyone, not if she was careful, and one thing she was good at was being careful; she’d spent all her married life having to sneak and creep about, just so she was able to get out for a few hours here and there, so she was now somewhat expert at it.

Smiling at her daughter who was fast asleep in the cot, Bree picked her up, careful not to wake her as she wrapped her up tightly in a pink cashmere blanket. She gently placed her in the baby stroller Franny had bought from Harrods, when she’d first found out she was pregnant. Before things had got tense between them.

Checking she’d got her keys, Bree bounced Mia down the stairs in the stroller. At the bottom, before walking into the communal area, she took a deep breath. She shouldn’t feel guilty about going outside. There was nothing wrong with it, nothing at all. But then, why did she feel like she was doing something so bad? It wasn’t a crime, and it wasn’t Franny who had to stay indoors day in and day out, seeing and speaking to nobody, and as much as Franny refused to hear her when she said that living this way reminded her of her old life, that’s exactly what it felt like, and all the old triggers, all her old demons seemed like they were coming back.

She felt down, lonely. She’d even go as far as saying she was depressed, and she wanted out, but at the moment it seemed like Franny was holding all the cards, not just because she was indebted to her for what she’d done by helping her to keep Mia, but also financially. And she was certainly grateful, but right now she refused to let the thought of Franny stop her taking Mia out for some fresh air. After all, she was a grown woman and she could do what she liked.

With a renewed sense of determination, Bree stood in the communal hallway of the maisonettes, pushing away her guilt and hesitating only for a moment before she stepped out into the sunshine, feeling the warm wind on her face.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The last time she’d been outside was when she’d gone into labour with Mia, and Mia had come early, so that made it almost four and a half months ago.

It was crazy, she knew that and she was embarrassed to admit even to herself that over time she’d become slightly wary of Franny, even going so far as to say she was afraid of her. Not that she thought Franny would actually hurt her, but there was an intensity about Franny that hadn’t been there before, as well as an unhealthy concern for Mia.

On the odd occasion when she had tried to stand up for herself, well she was no match for Franny, and before she knew it – and maybe she was just being silly to think it – but in some strange way she felt Franny was keeping her prisoner.

Sighing, Bree crossed over the road in the direction of Woolwich Church Street, not wanting her thoughts to ruin the day. She pushed the buggy along the pavement, minding the potholes, strewn rubbish and discarded pieces of well-chewed gum, and taking in the surroundings she’d never really explored before.

She’d managed to find a five-pound note in one of her jacket pockets, which must have been there from before the birth, and now she was going to get herself a McDonald’s. It was stupid really, but she couldn’t help smiling at the idea of being able to order a cheeseburger without anyone telling her she wasn’t allowed.

Cutting through a back alleyway, Bree sighed heavily as she unsuccessfully tried to stop thinking about her situation. How things had come to this, she didn’t know. One minute she was with Alfie thinking about their future, and the next? The next his long-term girlfriend was helping her hide out. It was all such a mess.

Although she’d walked out on Alfie, that didn’t make her stop caring … or stop loving him for that matter. Not that she’d ever tell Franny that. That was the last thing she would do, and she’d no doubt that it was possibly the last thing Franny would want to hear. The problem wasn’t Alfie, the problem had always been his lifestyle. And there was no way he was ever going to give it up. It was what made him tick. It was in his DNA but bringing a baby into that life and all that came with it – the danger, the people, the uncertainty – it just wasn’t the way she wanted to live.

It hadn’t been an easy decision and as much as it hurt to the point it felt at times like a sharp object was pressing into her chest, it’d been the right one, and she knew however much she missed, loved and adored Alfie, doing the right thing for Mia had to come first.

Having cleaned herself up in the public toilets, Shannon was now almost skipping down the road. She smiled to herself as she felt the money that Alfie had given her in her pocket. He’d been a strange guy. An odd guy. He hadn’t been bad-looking, actually he’d been really handsome, but it was weird that somebody, especially a bloke, had given her something for nothing.

She’d half expected him to be waiting around the corner for her, playing out some pervy role-play, a fantasy; him acting as her stalker and chasing her along the streets, only for it to end up with them having sex down some dirty, cold alleyway. But he hadn’t been there. He was nowhere to be seen. And although she hadn’t wanted to get off with him and be forced to earn out the fifty quid he’d given her, she’d actually been slightly disappointed because it’d been nice just to talk to somebody who didn’t treat her like she was something nasty stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

Still, it didn’t matter because now she’d be able to buy some decent crack off her dealer, and not just one measly rock.

Just the thought of it made her lick her lips, but they were so sore. Bloody Charlie. Maybe she’d give him a few days to calm down and then go around and see if he would take her in again. This wasn’t the first time he’d thrown her out and she doubted it’d be the last. Anyhow, she wasn’t going to worry about it because today had turned out better than she’d ever expected it to. If she’d been with Charlie right now all she’d have been doing was sucking some stinking old fellow’s cock, but as it stood, she was going to be able to get high. She giggled to herself. Life really wasn’t so bad after all.

She didn’t even mind that she’d have to travel further this time, as her dealer had moved. Yes, she could get some stuff from round Soho but the problem with that was all the dealers knew Charlie, which meant he’d find out she’d bought some rocks, which would mean he’d want to know where she got the money from. Besides, her dealer’s crack was some of the best around, and that’s all that really mattered.

Delighted at the thought of what the rest of the day held, Shannon crossed over Samuel Street by Woolwich Dockyard, making her way to Warspite Road, which was on the other side of the dual carriageway.

Running across the busy road at the same time as her sticking two fingers up and screaming obscenities at the passing lorry beeping its horn, Shannon hurried along, pulling up the sleeves of Alfie’s jumper.

As she turned into the quiet road full of derelict houses and empty factory units, Shannon stopped in her tracks, before running around the side of an old empty warehouse. She stared, squinting through the bright sunshine as she watched a woman pushing a buggy along the alleyway.

She continued to stare, and she couldn’t be sure, but she thought it was … yes, it was. It was her. It was Bree. She hadn’t seen her for quite a while but now she was looking properly, there was no mistaking that face. The last time she’d seen Bree was ages ago. What was she doing round here?

About to wave, Shannon paused, and having thought for a moment, she stepped back into the shadows. Then, keeping her eyes firmly on Bree, Shannon pulled out her phone and dialled a number.

‘It’s me, I thought you might be interested … Guess who I’ve just seen pushing a pram.’

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