POISON
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 2020

Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2020

Cover design © Claire Ward, HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover photographs © Alexey Kazantsev / Trevillion Images (woman);

Shutterstock.com (background)

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: 9780008366964

Ebook Edition © February 2020 ISBN: 9780008366957

Version: 2020-01-14

Dedication

To my Family.

Epigraph

‘It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.’

William Blake

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

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Jacqui Rose

About the Publisher

1

Alfie Jennings opened his eyes and groaned. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry, which he thought was pretty ironic considering how much he’d drunk at the club. Though in truth, he’d lost count after he’d knocked back the tenth double whiskey.

Not that he cared. He was done with caring. The only place caring had ever got him was up shit creek, which was exactly where he was now. Swimming in it, sinking in it and certainly wallowing in it … Fuck.

Rubbing his temples in annoyance, Alfie sighed and turned his head slowly to the side. Next to him, with her head on the pillow, sleeping soundly and letting out the tiniest of snores, was the brass he’d picked up sometime between entering the club and leaving it.

Though for the life of him he couldn’t remember bringing her back to the flat in Soho. In fact, apart from the argument he’d had with Vaughn Sadler, one of his closest friends, he couldn’t remember much, which was exactly what he’d wanted. His motto now was going to be: drink, fuck and forget.

Irritated, he yawned and roughly pushed the naked woman’s leg off him. Then, growling and wincing at the loudness of his own voice, he snapped, ‘Oi! Sleepin’-fucking-beauty, wake the frig up, will ya? I want you out of here, pronto. This ain’t no bed and breakfast.’

The prostitute, who Alfie thought looked no older than twenty-five, stretched and broke wind at the same time. She pushed back her dyed, dried blonde hair and pouted sulkily.

‘Well if I’m sleeping beauty, that would make you the prince, and I’m damn sure you ain’t supposed to wake me up like that. That’s not how the story went, mate.’

Alfie sat up. He picked up his boxers from the floor and pulled them on. His blue eyes darkened as he stared at her. ‘No, darlin’, that’s exactly how it went. I just reckon you must’ve missed that line, like the other line you missed. The one that said … get your fucking clothes on and get the fuck out of here before I throw you out and then we can all live happily ever after.’

Before the woman had a chance to reply there was a loud banging on the front door, followed by a man’s voice calling Alfie’s name. It was Vaughn.

‘Open up, mate. Come on, I ain’t playing with you. We need to talk. You were well out of order last night. I know things have been fucked up lately but you got to sort your shit out.’

Alfie slumped on the bed, lighting up a cigarette. He inhaled the smoke deeply and ran his hand through his thick black hair. The last thing he wanted to do was speak to Vaughn. His head was pounding and he didn’t need the grief.

‘Alf, I know you’re in there, so do yourself a favour and open up … Alf! Alf! Come on, I ain’t got all day … Fine. If that’s the way you’re going to be.’

The next moment Alfie heard a louder banging and then a crash as Vaughn booted open the door, swiftly and easily.

Alfie stood up quickly but the minute he had done he regretted it as a sharp pain rushed through his head. ‘Why the fuck did you do that? I’ll have to get that repaired now.’

Standing in the doorway, Vaughn Sadler shrugged, a smile on his handsome face. ‘What am I supposed to do if you won’t answer?’

‘What most people do, go the fuck away …?’

‘As much as you’d like that, it ain’t going to happen. So how about you make us both a nice cup of Rosie Lee and whilst you’re doing that, you could work on making your face look less like a slapped arse.’

Incensed but too hungover to show it, Alfie snarled, ‘If you’ve just come to take the piss, do yourself a favour and turn back round. I don’t need this.’

Vaughn looked at Alfie, seeing the stress lines etched into his face. He was worried about him. Really worried. He’d seen Alfie spiral before, but this was different. It was clear Alfie had given up caring about everything and anything. He was on a path of self-destruction, which seemed to be lined with drugs, drink and women.

Letting out a sigh, Vaughn glanced at the hooker who was busily getting dressed in a pair of pink flimsy hot pants and a gold crop top, which barely hid her ginormous fake breasts. He nodded to her in recognition.

She was one of the women who worked in the club that he and his friend Johnny Taylor owned and ran.

Knowing that Alfie had been in a bad way last night and after the row they’d had about Alf taking it easy with how much coke he was shoving up his nose, he’d ended up paying her to keep an eye on Alfie, and not to let him out of her sight. And if that meant her sleeping with him, so be it. She could do worse than go to bed with Alfie, though, looking at him now, he was hardly anybody’s Prince Charming.

‘None of us need this,’ Vaughn said, by way of response to Alfie’s sarcastic comment. ‘And by the way, you look like shit, Alf.’

Not wanting to make any sudden movements, Alfie stepped in closer to Vaughn. He was hit by the smell of Vaughn’s expensive aftershave. Then without warning, he promptly vomited all over the black silk shirt Vaughn was wearing.

Like an electric shock, Vaughn jumped backwards, fighting against the urge to vomit too. He grabbed the nearest thing next to him – which happened to be a cushion – and began to wipe the vomit off with it as he marched into the en-suite bathroom to get a towel, calling back over his shoulder as he went, ‘Jesus Christ, Alf, what’s wrong with you? You’re like a fucking animal. I don’t know why I bo—’

‘Vaughn? Sorry I was so long – I had to change her nappy again.’ A teenage girl with bright red hair and bright green eyes appeared in the doorway carrying a baby. She grinned an almost toothless smile. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to changing them things. I thought weaning meself off crack was difficult, but facing Mia’s nappies is something else.’ She giggled, stretching out her arms to give the baby to Alfie. ‘Here you go, sweetie, go to Daddy. He looks like he could do with a cuddle from you.’

Alfie’s eyes flashed with anger as Shannon Mulligan held the baby in mid-air. He backed away, pushing himself against the wall, knocking an expensive glass vase off the silver shelf.

As Vaughn came back into the room, Alfie spoke, his voice almost inaudible. ‘I don’t want to see her. Get her out of here. Get her out!’

Not knowing what to do, Shannon glanced at Vaughn then stepped nearer to Alfie. She spoke firmly. ‘She’s your baby. She needs to see her daddy.’

Alfie’s bellow echoed through the flat, giving Mia a fright and causing her to scream loudly.

‘I said get her out of here! Fucking get her out of here now!’

With the prostitute watching with interest, Vaughn’s face hardened, then he gently took Mia from Shannon and rocked her before placing her on the thick, cream carpet, which matched the matt cream walls. Not unkindly, he said, ‘She’s your daughter, Alf, and I reckon it’s time you and her did some bonding. We’ll be back to pick her up in a couple of hours.’ He turned to Shannon, taking the nappy bag off her shoulder as he continued to talk. ‘It’s got everything you need in there: her milk, her dummy, her nappies, her cuddly toy. You’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t know why you’re doing this, Vaughn, but in case it escaped your notice, I ain’t Mary fucking Poppins. So you need to take her.’

‘Sorry Alf, no can do. You might surprise yourself – the other night I found myself singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. Though in fairness it does get a bit repetitive, but who’d have fucking thought it, eh? Point is, you’ve got to make an effort – she’s your kid.’

Alfie licked his lips, trying to get some salvia onto his parched, chapped lips. He shook as he spoke. ‘I told you, I don’t want her here.’

‘Alf—’

‘You’re not getting it are you? I can’t even look at her. I don’t want to look at her.’

Vaughn shook his head sadly. ‘Then you’ll just have to learn to.’

Alf stared coldly at Vaughn. ‘I don’t have to do anything. Just take her. You ain’t going to leave her here with me.’

Vaughn gestured to the others to follow him. ‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do because it seems that’s the only way I’m going to get you to spend some time with her … She won’t bite, Alf. Get over yourself. Unfortunately for her, she needs you.’

Alfie ran to the doorway, blocking the entrance. He pushed his face into Vaughn’s and hissed angrily, his voice cracking as he fought back the tears. ‘Don’t you fucking do this to me. You are not going to do this.’

With not much of an effort, Vaughn pushed Alfie out of the way. ‘Looks like I’ve already done it.’

And with that Vaughn and the women walked away, leaving Alfie alone with his screaming daughter.

2

Franny Doyle glanced around the small interview room of the prison, looking at the peeling grey paint and the bars across the windows.

She sat back in the uncomfortable orange chair, feeling the hard, cracked plastic digging into her back. Not that she minded. It was a distraction from the anger, which ran through her veins as she brought her gaze back to stare at the person sitting across the table from her.

‘So come on, Francesca. Let’s go over it again, shall we? Because so far the only part of your story that seems anywhere near the truth was the part where you got up in the morning and went for a piss.’

Franny sat forward, leaning her body on the table. Her face contorted with hatred. ‘Is that how you get your kicks, Detective, imagining me with me knickers around me ankles … Go fuck yourself!’

‘Temper, temper, Francesca.’

Even though Franny knew she shouldn’t, she seethed openly, snarling out her words as she pushed back her long chestnut brown hair. ‘First off, my name’s Franny – as well you know – and secondly, don’t push me, Detective. Don’t play games because that would be a really stupid thing for you to do. I won’t be in here forever.’

Detective Balantyne roared with laughter, his round, acne-scarred face lighting up. He stared at her, his hazel eyes twinkling with delight. ‘There you are. That’s the Francesca I know and love – full of threats and anger. Is that why you killed Bree Dwyer? Did she say something you didn’t like? Did she wind you up the wrong way? Is that what happened, Francesca?’

The light touch on Franny’s arm from her solicitor was all that was needed for Franny to get herself back under control. She took a deep breath and a small smile appeared at the corners of her lips. ‘No. As much as you’d like that, that’s not what happened, Detective – not even close, darlin’. We’ve already been over this a hundred times.’

Detective Balantyne glared at her. Over the years he’d always been struck by three things when it came to Franny Doyle. Her brains. Her beauty. But, above all else, her ruthlessness. Her father – a notorious Irish gangster – had been the same and, by God, that man had certainly taught her well. Franny Doyle was a hard bastard. No more. No less.

Breaking his own thoughts, Balantyne opened the thin grey file in front of him. ‘Then explain to me why forensics found some of your DNA on the plastic sheeting Bree’s body was wrapped up in?’

‘Is that the best you can do? It’s obvious, ain’t it? Like I already told you, I’d visited her plenty of times. I always gave her a hug when I saw her—’ Franny answered, matter-of-factly.

Balantyne interrupted. ‘Out of everything I’ve heard, that’s the hardest thing to get my head around.’

For a moment, Franny looked puzzled. She spoke suspiciously. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘That the ice queen shows affection. I can’t picture it myself, can’t quite see you giving anyone a hug … But anyway, carry on.’

Franny had to take another deep breath; she could feel her temper rising again. What she wouldn’t do to take down this man.

For as long as she could remember, Balantyne had been sniffing around – wanting to bang first her father up then her – and now, after all these years, he might’ve finally got her, and God wasn’t he just delighting in it.

She spoke snootily. ‘The point is, Detective: what that bunch of muppets down at forensics found on Bree’s clothes had obviously been transferred from me. You know, from me to her clothes then onto the plastic sheet. It’s a no-brainer that one.’

Balantyne pulled some photos out of his file and slid them across to Franny. She glanced down at them then looked up. She shrugged, not giving anything away of her emotions.

‘What? What about them?’

Balantyne shook his head. Even he had recoiled at the sight of Bree’s body – decomposing and broken – yet here was Franny Doyle not even taking an extra blink when she looked at the graphic photographs.

He snatched up one of the photos and pushed it into Franny’s eye line. ‘What? Is that all you can say? She was found in a shallow grave, wrapped up in plastic. Most of the bones in her legs were broken. Snapped. Like she was a stick of wood. Her shoulders were dislocated; her neck was twisted around the wrong way. What sort of an animal does that to another human being?’

Franny continued to stare coldly. ‘You tell me, you’re the detective.’

‘You know what I think? I think I’m looking at the animal right now, and I’m going to prove it. And then, Francesca, you are going to spend the rest of your days looking at four walls, with nothing else to do than think about what you’ve done.’

Franny sneered then smiled. ‘In your dreams, Detective. You haven’t got a chance in hell of pinning Bree’s death on me. Both you and I know you’ll have to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt to get a conviction, and let’s face it, under scrutiny, your evidence will never stand up.’

Detective Balantyne nodded his head slowly. This time it was his turn to smile. ‘Perhaps if it was this evidence alone you might have a point, but unfortunately for you, I’ve got a little bit of help …’

‘What are you talking about?’

Balantyne laughed. ‘Oh nothing, I just like to see you sweat and it’s been a long time coming.’

‘This won’t stick, however much you want it to.’

Balantyne leant across the table and smirked. ‘Then let the games begin.’

‘There ain’t no games. You’ve got it wrong. I never killed her.’

As Detective Balantyne collected his things and stood up from the chair, he smirked before leaning down and whispering in her ear. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t care if you did or not. The point is … I’ve finally got you, Doyle!’

Then pulling his navy anorak on and heading for the door, Balantyne stopped and turned to look at Franny. ‘You’ve been laughing at us all too long, Ms Doyle, but you won’t be laughing soon. The jury will be happy to convict scum like you … and if you want my advice, I’d confess – the courts always like someone who pleads guilty. Saves a lot of time and they look at that favourably when it comes to sentencing. Who knows, you could be out before you turn ninety. Think on, Ms Doyle, think on.’

3

After Detective Balantyne and her solicitor had left the room, Franny put her head in her hands. She fought back the tears of anger and frustration, determined not to show or even feel anything because, after all, where would that get her? But she knew that was going to be hard. The situation she was in, if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t know if she was ever going to get out of it.

Her solicitor – who’d been her father’s solicitor and had acted for most other men in the firm when they’d been in trouble – frowned as he came back into the room. ‘I’ve just been on the phone to one of my sources in the police. I’ve got some bad news for you, Fran.’

Franny’s face darkened. ‘Do I need to hear this now, Ed?’

‘I think you do.’

Taking a sip of water, Franny braced herself. ‘Go on then, hit me with it.’

Ed Romano spoke with the faintest of Italian accents. ‘I think – and my source is good, they’re reliable – I think Balantyne has got some witness statements.’

Franny sat up. ‘What? That’s impossible.’

‘I wish it were, Franny.’

‘Who? For fuck’s sake, Ed, just tell me?’

‘It’s Vaughn. You’ve certainly made an enemy there. My source didn’t know exactly what was in the statement but Vaughn’s told them he saw what happened. He’s basically saying he witnessed you killing Bree.’

Franny blanched. She knew that Vaughn was gunning for her, but even she didn’t think that he’d be cooperating with the Old Bill. In their world, what Vaughn was doing went against all the rulebooks. She shook her head. ‘No, that’s bullshit. Your source must be wrong; I would’ve known if he’d given a statement.’

Ed, playing with his gold ink pen, shrugged. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. It’s a wonderful thing, anonymity.’

‘You can’t give a statement anonymously.’

‘I’m afraid you can, under sections 74 to 85 of the Coroners and Justice Act 2009, orders known as “investigation anonymity orders” can be requested at the very start of an investigation – especially in a murder case. They can also apply to the court for a “witness anonymity order” during trial. Shall we say, it provides certainty to people who may have relevant information that their identities will not be disclosed.’

‘So not only is Vaughn a snake, but he’s also a coward, hiding behind anonymity,’ sneered Franny.

‘I suppose he needed to keep it quiet. Vaughn talking to the police … well, that’s the ultimate betrayal, isn’t it?’

This time Franny didn’t answer. He was right though – Vaughn giving a statement was so far removed from what they were and what they stood for, it was hard to even believe. And she was certainly going to make him pay … however long that took.

Taking a deep breath, Franny said, ‘Anyway, his word won’t stand up for much. What jury is going to believe a face? Who’s going to believe a man who’s spent his days in a life of crime?’

Absentmindedly, the solicitor touched the small bald spot on the back of his head.

‘I don’t know, but it seems they’re willing to put it to the test. And there’s one more thing …’ Franny’s whole body slumped as the solicitor continued to say, ‘You’re not going to like it but there’s another statement as well.’

Franny looked puzzled. ‘Who?’

‘Shannon Mulligan. Apparently her statement is almost identical to Vaughn’s.’

This time, in the privacy of the prison’s interview room, Franny did lose her cool. She slammed her hand on the table and shouted, ‘They’re lying! They’re both lying! Shannon’s always been nothing but a lying bitch!’

Calmly Ed said, ‘Look, try not to let this rattle you. We’ll sort it.’

Franny’s eyes widened. ‘How? How the fuck are you going to get me out of here?’

‘I don’t know yet, but, Franny, you’ve got to stay positive.’

Hating feeling emotionally vulnerable, Franny pulled herself together. She bit her lip, trying to control the panic. Then she shrugged and did her best to look and sound casual – but the feeling of anxiety still sat heavy on her chest.

Her eyes narrowed and a steely look crossed her face as she said, ‘Vaughn was beginning to lose his control with Alfie.’

‘In what sense?’

‘Well, Alfie had stopped listening to him. He’d started to ask me advice, take my opinion over Vaughn’s – whether it be in business or money matters. And of course, Vaughn didn’t like that and now he’s doing all he can to get rid of me once and for all. I was a threat to him before, but believe me, I’m going to be a threat to him again. Not only that, I’m going to be his worst nightmare.’

She stopped speaking for a moment and gripped her fists together before adding, ‘I have to get out of here, you understand? And I want you to get Alfie to come and see me. I need to see Alfie.’

4

Alfie sat with his back to Mia, his hands covering his ears as she screamed. He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there or she had cried, but it seemed like an eternity. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. And yes, fucking yes, he hated himself for it, but he certainly hated Franny more for it.

She was to blame for it. She was to blame for all of this but the thing he hated more about it – the thing that ate away at him – was that, as much as he hated her, he loved her. And God almighty, above anything else that was the most fucked-up thing about it all.

‘Shit!’ He lashed out, kicking a small glass table, sending it flying across the room, causing Mia to scream more.

The whole situation was so fucked up; his girlfriend was behind bars for killing the mother of his child, and on top of that he now had a banging headache. How it had all come to this, he couldn’t even begin to get his head around.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Hello, Mr Jennings. You should really get that door fixed – you never know who might come by when you’re least expecting them.’

At the sound of the voice, Alfie jumped and turned around. Standing there with a machete in his hand was Mr Huang, the head of a notorious South East Asian triad gang, and a man who spelt trouble. Big, big trouble.

As Alfie watched, his heart beginning to race, Mr Huang – slender and immaculately dressed in a three-piece grey-striped suit – nodded to his men, who made a human wall behind him. Staring at the baby and sounding younger than his sixty-plus years, Huang asked, ‘Yours, Mr Jennings?’

Alfie cautiously nodded but said nothing as he kept his eyes on the large blade Mr Huang spun in his hands. ‘How old is she? Seven, eight months?’

Again, Alfie nodded and again he said nothing.

Huang’s tone danced between icy and amusement. ‘Parenting isn’t easy at the best of times, but especially at this age. You have to watch them all the time; they’re always having accidents when you least expect it. You can’t be too careful.’

Smiling, but without it reaching his eyes, Huang looked around the small but expensive flat, decorated in matching silver and purple furniture. Then casually, he walked over to Mia, picking her up. Immediately she stopped crying and began gurgling happily, her nose running as her tiny fingers played with Huang’s red bow tie.

‘They like to be rocked, Mr Jennings; it’s something about the motion that soothes them. But then I’m not here to swap baby notes with you, I’m here to talk about the money you owe me and show you the kind of penalties I charge for late payments.’

‘Look …’ Alfie tried to say something, but as he did, Mr Huang, who was still holding Mia, drew back his leg and kicked Alfie hard in the side of his head, sending him crashing into the wall.

Alfie felt the pain shoot through his head to his jaw to his chin and tasted the blood in his mouth as he watched Huang put Mia back down on the floor next to him.

Through the pain Alfie stared up at Huang. He could feel his right eye closing and a burning agony at the back of it. He listened as Huang spoke in a whisper.

‘Mr Jennings, if I were you I’d watch your tone. One thing I can’t abide is rudeness, it’s certainly no example to give your daughter … So, come on, Mr Jennings, let’s try again shall we? Where’s my money?’

‘You’re going to get it,’ Alfie snarled roughly.

Huang chuckled. He glanced at his men then ruffled Mia’s soft, blonde curly hair. ‘Oh, I know I am, that isn’t in question. What I want to know is when?’

Watching Mia become fascinated by Mr Huang’s grey, leather shoe, her tiny fingers playing with the tassel on it, Alfie shrugged, more aware than ever of his tone. He needed to stay calm and at least try to sound respectful. ‘I’m working on it, okay? I ain’t taking the piss. You just need to give me a bit more time.’

Mr Huang crouched; his knees cracking as he did so. Staring at Alfie directly, he tilted his head to one side and grinned as he put the tip of the machete blade on Alfie’s cheek. His small, beady eyes were dancing with amusement behind his thick, round glasses. ‘I think I’ve given you enough time, don’t you? If it weren’t for the fact that I quite like you, Mr Jennings, you would be dead by now. But that isn’t to say you won’t be dead by next week if you don’t give me my money, and what’s your little girl supposed to do then? Little girls need their daddies you know.’

Then without warning Huang slashed the blade across Alfie’s face. Alfie yelled out in agony as the blood spurted out of the three-inch wound, flowing through his fingers as he pressed his hand against his cheek, hoping to stem the rush.

Every part of him wanted to fight, wanted to beat Huang senseless, but he knew better than to try to attack; for a start he was outnumbered and Mr Huang and his men wouldn’t think twice about chopping him up into tiny bits if he retaliated.

Trying to hold together the thick flaps of skin on his cheek, Alfie grimaced and groaned in pain.

‘Mr Jennings, don’t be such a baby, it’s only a little cut. I don’t think even your daughter would make such a fuss.’

Huang spun round and placed the blade on Mia’s cheek. She gurgled and laughed as Huang said, ‘Shall we see?’

With no hesitation, Alfie leapt at Huang, knocking the blade out of his hand. ‘Don’t you fucking touch her, you bastard. You fucking animal. You hear me! Get the fuck away from her.’

Immediately Huang’s men charged forward. They leapt on Alfie, pinning him down on the floor as Mia started to scream again.

Getting up, Huang straightened and dusted down his expensive hand-made suit. He turned and glared at Alfie, pressing his foot into Alfie’s throat whilst watching the blood pooling onto the thick, cream carpet.

A mixture of pain and fury raced through Alfie. He tried to say something but he struggled to breathe under the pressure as Huang’s foot continued to press down on his throat.

‘That was very foolish of you, Mr Jennings, and I’m also somewhat surprised. What do you take me for? Do you really think that I’m capable of hurting your daughter? Or rather it would be more truthful to say that’s really not my style at all. Whatever happened to the British having a sense of humour? And look what’s happened now; you’ve ruined my shoes. These were my favourite pair you know.’

Huang took his foot off Alfie’s throat then proceeded to wipe the blood from his shoe using Alfie’s face as a cloth, causing Alfie to scream in agony as the steel-toe-capped loafer ground into the wound on his cheek.

Huang cleared his throat. ‘I’ll be back soon, but in the meantime, I want you to think on. Next time I might not be so kind … oh and, Mr Jennings? Don’t forget what I said: babies like to be rocked. You should really try it.’

And with that, Huang nodded to his men who set about Alfie, knocking him unconscious. The last thing Alfie Jennings heard was the sound of Mia screaming.

5

Franny lay back on her bed staring up at the empty top bunk’s rusting springs. Unlike a lot of the other women, she hadn’t bothered to make the magnolia-walled cell anything like homely. It was bare and uninviting, cold and bleak. No photos, no posters, certainly not a calendar – Jesus, she already knew exactly how long she’d been on remand and the last thing she needed was a reminder.

No, she didn’t want anything up on the walls – to her it was like saying she was staying, that this would now be her home for the next twenty years. It was almost like admitting defeat, and as her father had told her on a number of occasions, death was her only defeat.

Sighing, she glanced around. The whole place stunk. The prison had a constant smell of shit, sweat and Spice – a nasty, synthetic drug that either turned the women into zombies or psychotic animals. Only last week some Spice had been smuggled into the prison inside the bodies of three dead rats, thrown over the prison walls. And now the smoking ban had come into play, it seemed the intake of Spice had gone up tenfold.

Although there was supposed to be a flushing toilet in the corner of her cell it hadn’t actually worked since the second day she’d been here, so she was forced to use the bucket in the corner.

The whole place seemed to be ingrained with dirt that just couldn’t be washed out. The bed sheets – which were supposed to be fresh each week – looked like they’d just been swapped from one dirty set to another and the cold air whirled in through the prison window bars as if looking for some sanctuary.

Absentmindedly playing with her hair, she sighed again, forcing herself not to think of Mia and how much she missed her. From the time Mia had been born she’d loved and treated her like she was her own, which had come as a surprise; she’d never seen herself as maternal, and certainly no one in her life had ever accused her of it.

That was the main reason she needed to get out … That and having her day of reckoning with Vaughn. She could taste that. She was hungry for it and it was what was keeping her going. Vaughn and Mia were her motivation and, of course, Mia needed her … Her Mia. None of them deserved such a beautiful little girl, not even Bree, her mother, had deserved her.

To her, Bree had been weak, and when it had mattered, Bree just hadn’t been able to cut it. Even before Bree had died, the whole situation had been a mess. Franny thought about the fact that when Alfie had thought that she’d run off with his money and left him – which hadn’t actually been the case – he had drowned his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle and in the arms of Bree, who he’d known since childhood.

When eventually she’d reappeared and discovered that Alfie had taken up with Bree, as usual she’d hidden her hurt and just got on with it. Though that hadn’t been the end of the story – far from it, that had just been the beginning.

Alfie had still been in love with her but he’d also fallen in love with Bree and that’s when things had become really complicated.

Bree had been like a fish out of water in the life she and Alfie lived. She’d found it frightening and hated every part of the life of crime. So, when Bree had discovered she was pregnant that had been it; Bree had wanted out. She’d wanted to run, but she knew that if and when Alfie found out about her pregnancy, she would never escape Alfie or the life he lived. Because, to Alfie, family was everything.

Although it was the last thing Bree had wanted to do, she had decided to have an abortion; however, strange as it was, by then Franny had actually become friends with Bree, so instead of standing by and just watching Bree go through with it, she’d decided to help her by putting a plan into place.

She had felt sorry for Bree – at first – and even though she knew it was dangerous for her, she had helped Bree get away from Alfie, though of course he’d known nothing about the pregnancy. So behind Alfie’s back Bree had settled into a new life and a few months later had given birth to Mia.

But the overall pressure of living a secret life had gotten to Bree and as a consequence Bree had put them both in danger by thinking she could come out of hiding or, even worse, tell Alfie what she had done, believing he would just forgive and forget. Which was a joke in itself; Franny knew Alfie well enough to realise that the betrayal alone would’ve meant a bullet in her head and, though she doubted Alfie would’ve actually hurt Bree, he would’ve taken Mia and not let Bree see her ever again.

But Bree hadn’t wanted to listen and in the following months not only had Bree become a loose cannon with her continual threat to confess all to Alfie, but in Franny’s opinion, Bree had also become a useless mother. So, not having anyone else around, it had fallen on her to look after Mia. Surprisingly Franny had relished the challenge, and even more surprisingly, she had come to love the little girl like she was her own.

Looking back, she supposed Bree was probably jealous of her bond with Mia or perhaps Bree was just one of life’s parasites; unable to live without having someone to latch on to. In any case, Bree had certainly pushed her to the limits: needy and neurotic, crying all the time and generally being emotionally unstable. Something Franny had no patience for; traits she despised in people, especially in women. She and Mia had certainly had enough of Bree on the day in question. The day Bree had died …

Before Franny’s thoughts had time to move on, she felt someone sit on the corner of her bed, and quickly she slipped the prohibited phone her solicitor had smuggled in for her into the hole she’d made on the bottom side of the top bunk mattress.

Bringing her eyes up, she saw Christine Lucas sitting there with two of her cronies standing at the cell door.

Christine spoke in a reassuring tone, her Geordie accent apparent. ‘Hello, Franny, sorry I’ve taken so long to make your acquaintance, but I was down in “seg”. But now I’m back, I like to come and welcome the new women to my wing. I’m Christine.’

Franny stared coolly at Christine Lucas, noticing the huge roll of fat that hung down like an apron onto Christine’s lap. She knew exactly who this woman was. She was the ‘Daddy’ of the wing, the top dog, serving a triple life sentence for the violent murder of her three children.

Franny also knew why Christine had been in ‘seg’ – segregation; Christine had got a group of women to pounce on one of the new girls who had shot her mouth off about not being afraid of Christine. They had jumped on her in the showers – one of the few places in the prison where there was no CCTV – and had not only given her a good beating, but had also sexually assaulted her, damaging her insides.

Wanting to be on an equal level with Christine, Franny sat up, her eyes narrowing. She spoke icily. ‘I appreciate the visit, Christine, but if you don’t mind I’m a little bit busy.’

Christine looked around at the empty cell and then at the two other women who looked like a pair of club bouncers standing by the door. She laughed, showing off her ill-fitted false teeth. The sagging skin on her fat face fell into folds as she spoke to the women guarding the door. ‘We’ve got a right one here. It’s always the same; all the girls on remand think they can come in here and do what they like … but you all soon learn who’s in charge.’ She paused a minute before adding: ‘I reckon she owes me an apology.’

Showing no emotion Franny blinked. ‘As I told you, I’m busy, so if you wouldn’t mind …’ Franny gestured with her head to the door at which point Christine lunged at her, gripping Franny’s chin between her pudgy hands. ‘Maybe the memo didn’t get to you, but I rule this place and I say what goes on, do you understand me?’

Franny’s eyes darkened. ‘If I were you, I’d take your hands off my fucking face.’

About to pull the hidden razor blade out of the clip in her hair, Christine stopped as she heard a familiar voice behind her.

‘What’s going on here?’ Officer Jessie Ford, who’d worked in the prison for the past five years, stared at the women.

Christine grinned and sniffed loudly. ‘Oh you know how it is, miss, I just like to give all the new girls a welcome. That’s right, isn’t it, pet?’

Christine stared at Franny.

Jessie Ford clearly knew only too well how it was, as she said, ‘I just hope you’re not causing any trouble because I’m sure the governor would be happy to see you put back in seg, Lucas.’

Christine stood up, her obese six-foot-one frame towering over the diminutive prison guard, and this time when Christine spoke, her tone was colder. ‘Howay, man! I don’t like threats especially when I haven’t done anything wrong.’

Officer Ford refused to back down but the flicker of unease as Christine continued to loom over her didn’t go unnoticed by any of the women in the cell. ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Now go on, get back to your cell, Lucas, and take your buddies with you.’

Christine smirked, her green eyes void of any emotion as she turned to Franny.

‘How about you and I pick up this conversation another time?’

Franny held Christine’s stare. Her voice was as steely as Christine’s had been. ‘Let’s do that, anytime you want, darlin’ … you know where I am.’

Christine leant down to Franny, whispering her next words, her Geordie accent strong and sharp. ‘You must have a death wish, pet – either that or you’re stupid.’

At which point, Christine and the other women barged past Officer Ford, who followed them out, leaving Franny sitting in her cell wondering once again just how the hell she was going to get out of this mess.

6

‘Are you sure we did the right thing? You heard what Alfie said. He ain’t bothered about her. He don’t give a flying fuck about Mia.’

Worried, Shannon chewed on her tasteless gum as she sucked on her vape. Her bitten-down nails were painted a pearly pink.

In the past few months not only had her life done a three-sixty, but for the first time in her life she had actually experienced happiness that hadn’t been brought on from sucking on a crack pipe.

It had been pure and natural, brought on from Vaughn’s kindness, from his care, from his trust, from him not wanting anything from her, and for that, she would do anything for him. Anything. And she certainly wasn’t going to allow anyone to get in the way of it. Now she knew how intoxicating happiness was, the buzz from it better and higher than any rock of crack, she wasn’t about to let it go.

After her mother had died in an alleyway from a heroin overdose, Shannon had been taken in by Uncle Charlie and her aunt. But rather than it having been a loving environment, most of her life she’d worked for Uncle Charlie, being forced to give blow jobs and have sex with whoever he put in front of her. On occasion, her uncle had wanted the odd blow job from her as well, though thankfully he’d never wanted full sex with her; he’d just groped and rubbed himself and his flaccid penis all over her. The thought of it made her sick. But then, when all hope had gone out of life, she’d met Alfie, and through Alfie, she’d met Vaughn – and he had saved her.

And whilst Alfie was spinning, drinking and sniffing as much coke as he could lay his hands on, Vaughn had trusted her enough to help look after Mia, which she had done with pleasure. The distraction of Mia had helped her not to focus on her crack habit. Having another human being needing and relying on her was something else she’d never experienced.

But now the problem was if Alfie decided to take on Mia, to look after her like a father should, then what use would she be to Vaughn? The thought of it terrified her. She loved Vaughn, not that he knew it, not that he probably loved her back … yet … but maybe one day he would, one day he would make her his wife. Mrs Sadler – now that would be something special. That was what dreams were made of.

So she needed to make sure not only that that nasty bitch, Franny Doyle – who’d always looked at her like she was a piece of dirt – stayed in prison, but also that Alfie stayed in his stupor, stayed spiralling … Yes, yes, that was it, all she needed to do was make sure that Alfie continued to be an unfit father, and then she would become completely indispensable to Vaughn and then – perhaps, just perhaps – Vaughn would see her in a different light and fall in love with her as she loved him.

And with a renewed sense of relief, Shannon sighed and pushed her bright red hair back behind her sticky-out ears and smiled a crack-ravaged, toothless smile.

Vaughn stared at Shannon. She was a good kid and by Christ she’d had the worst start in life, used and abused and passed around by her uncle. She was only sixteen and she had seen and been through stuff that no one, least of all a kid, should go through.

He was surprised at how fond of her he was; after all, she was a scrawny teenager, and an ex-crack addict at that. But she was sweet and he was happy to put a roof over her head. She seemed a bit lost. After all she had no friends or family that she could count on.

If anyone had told him this time last year that he’d be looking after a kid and a baby, he would have thought they’d been smoking crack. But funny thing was, he was actually enjoying it. Though of course when the time was right, when she’d got herself together a bit, he’d talk to her about moving on; not that he would see her on the streets again. Far from it … Who knew, perhaps, he could set her up in a shared house with other girls her age. Maybe she could go to college. Shit, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with a teenager.

Anyway, he could worry about all this later. For now he was grateful to her for not only backing up his story about Bree, but also for looking after Mia. And once Alfie saw that he needed his daughter as much as she needed him, Vaughn expected that Shannon would be more than happy to get on with her own life. But for now having her about worked – because he did care; Shannon felt like the wayward kid sister he never had.

With a renewed sense of relief, Vaughn sipped on the now cold cup of coffee, turning his thoughts back to Alfie.

He’d chosen to have a drink in the Italian deli across the road from Alfie’s flat. He had thought about going home to his flat, which he was renting from Johnny Taylor – above the club in Greek Street – but he’d thought better of it. He wanted to stay in striking distance of Alfie in case he really couldn’t cope with looking after Mia.

He checked his phone again just in case Alfie had rung and he’d missed it. Nothing. And he guessed nothing was a good sign. So why did he feel nervous in the pit of his stomach? It was stupid – almost as stupid as how much he’d been smitten by Mia.

‘I reckon Alfie is up there right now sticking the whole of Colombia up his nose.’

Irritated by Shannon making him feel more stressed than he wanted to feel, Vaughn snapped, ‘Do you have to chew that gum like that? You sound like a bleedin’ cement mixer and it’s getting on me nerves. And for the record, no, I don’t think he’s doing that, and yes, I think we’ve done the right thing.’

Shannon pulled a face. ‘I don’t know how you make that one out.’

‘The point is Alfie has always been stubborn, and sometimes you have to be tough with him to be kind. At the end of the day it’s his daughter and family means everything to him. Everything. It’s just been a rough couple of months. You’ll see; he’ll be fine. He’s probably up there now singing “Three Little Pigs”.’

Shannon pulled on her vape. ‘Then why do you look so worried?’

Vaughn banged down the coffee cup, spilling the milk over the table. ‘Because you keep going on about it. So do us a favour and stop. We’re here, he’s just over there, so it’s not like much can go wrong is it? He only … Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

‘What? Vaughn, what is it?’

Vaughn’s handsome face paled and he began to stand up, scraping back his chair as he stared out of the window.

‘What’s wrong?’

Still not answering, Vaughn watched a group of men coming out of the block of flats in Old Compton Street where Alfie’s flat was. He recognised most of them, and he certainly recognised the person who was walking down the street. It was Mr Huang. Ruthless, violent and someone he’d heard Alfie mention recently – not that he knew what business they had together. But what he did know was anything that spelt Huang spelt trouble. Big, big trouble.

And without waiting to explain to Shannon, Vaughn Sadler ran towards Alfie’s flat.

7

Detective Balantyne slammed through his front door, throwing his bag to the side. He didn’t know what it was about Franny Doyle but she always got under his skin. She was a smart-mouthed bitch, smarter than a lot of people he knew, but finally, hopefully, she would get her comeuppance. And God, wouldn’t it be a long time coming.

Stalking through to the grey and silver wallpapered lounge of the mid-terraced house in East Grinstead, which was located in the north-eastern corner of Sussex – a place he’d moved to last year – Balantyne kicked the tabby cat out of the way.

He sighed heavily as he sunk into the putrid coral-coloured chair and gritted his teeth – too hard – immediately feeling a throbbing pain run through his jaw, making his current mood even worse.

He would much rather be at work, busy and not having time to think about anything else but the job at hand. Being at home meant all the distractions disappeared and he was left with his own thoughts, something he’d rather run from.

Reaching over to finish off the half glass of whiskey that had been sat on the walnut coffee table since last night, Balantyne stared gloomily into the glass before dipping his finger in, to flick out the midge that had landed in it. Then knocking back the whiskey, he felt the welcoming burn in his throat, hoping that the drink would not only lighten his mood but would lessen the dull ache from his tooth as well.

His thoughts drifted back to Franny and her father, as well as Alfie and Vaughn. The faces of Soho, old and new, who as far back as he could remember he’d played a cat and mouse game with – though frustratingly, and he hated to admit it, they were always one move ahead of him.

To try to catch them out, he’d even stepped over to the wrong side of the law at times: getting information by bribing or blackmailing terrified witnesses, planting evidence to try to get some kind of confession, or even strong-arming the suspects when they were in custody. Anything just to bring them down.

He knew that if they’d known some of the things he’d resorted to over the years, a lot of people he worked with would wrongly label him as a bent copper. And of course, that would be a joke; he was far from that. He did what was needed to try to get results, to try to get the lowlife scum put away. It was as simple as that.

He wasn’t the criminal, they were. And when it came down to the likes of Franny Doyle and Alfie Jennings and his sidekick, Vaughn Sadler, the only option was to play dirty, to play the game at their level. So if walking the wrong side of the line occasionally would keep the streets clean of them, he was more than happy to do that.

‘I suppose you’ve been with her again?’

Balantyne’s thoughts were abruptly broken as he looked towards the sound of the voice. Standing in her dressing gown in the doorway was his wife, Emma. Tall and thin, her long blonde hair falling messily out of the high ponytail and yesterday’s mascara sitting smudged under her eyes.

Quietly, Balantyne shook his head as he placed his glass down on the floor. ‘Emma, please, I’ve been working. I’m tired, and I just wanted to unwind.’

‘Then why don’t I believe you …? And if you haven’t been with her, I know you’ve been with some other cheap slag.’

‘Em, I’ve just told you. I’ve been working. That’s it. So I’d appreciate it, sweetheart, if we didn’t have to go through the same thing again,’ Balantyne said quietly, staring into the glass of whiskey.

Without warning, Emma shrieked, her expression screwed up with anger. She rushed into the room, pushing her face inches away from Balantyne’s. ‘Liar! Liar! You’re a liar! I know it! I can smell her on you.’

A mix of anger and despair rushed through Balantyne. ‘The only thing you can smell is the booze you’ve been necking back all day.’

Emma’s eyes blazed with anger. ‘Do you blame me, Tone? Are you surprised that I drink? Wouldn’t you in my position?’ She paused then her gaze searched Balantyne’s face and with her voice full of resentment, she hissed, ‘It’s all your fault, Tone. I will never forgive you for what you did to me. You owe me.’

Balantyne, wanting Emma just to stop, nodded and said, almost inaudibly, ‘I know. I know, sweetheart.’

‘Then come on, tell me. Tell me the truth, have you been with her?’

Staring straight into Emma’s eyes, Balantyne shook his head. ‘No, Em, of course not. It’s all in your head. There is no her.’

It was like a red rag to a bull. Emma leapt at her husband, scratching his face as she tugged on his hair. ‘Don’t lie to me! I know you’re screwing around on me!’

Flinching from the pain in his scalp, Balantyne raged, ‘Well if you know that, Em, why bother asking me then?’

Emma’s shriek filled the room again. ‘You bastard! You fucking bastard! You think this is all a big joke, don’t you?’

Balantyne grabbed her arms, pulling them off him. He bellowed back, ‘Are you kidding me? Does any of this look like a joke? I’m just sick of it. Every day it’s the same thing, Em … I just want to know why you’re doing this? Why do you always have to do this, Em?’

Emma’s eyes filled with tears. Her voice danced on the edge of hysteria. ‘Don’t you dare turn this round! You know why I’m like this; you made me like this. I can’t trust you, and it’s all I think about. I know you’re seeing someone. I know it. I can smell her on you.’

Balantyne looked at Emma despairingly. ‘That’s just not true.’

Again, Emma lunged at him but this time she clawed at his eyes, screaming at the top of her voice.

Scrambling up from the chair, Balantyne knocked Emma backwards, forcing her against the wall where he grabbed her by the throat, banging her head against the tall wooden sideboard.

Balantyne’s face flushed red. ‘Is this what you want, Em? Are you happy now? Happy that you’ve pushed me to do this again? So now you can say I’m the bad guy, can’t you? That’s what you want isn’t it? Now you can go around telling everyone I knock you about, can’t you?’

Emma yelled in Balantyne’s face. ‘Who is there to tell? I haven’t got any friends because you won’t let me. I’ve got no one because of you.’

Enraged, Balantyne dropped his hand from her throat and punched the wall next to the side of her head. ‘Stop lying. Just fucking stop! The truth is you pushed them all away because no one wants to be around you. No one can cope with it. No one can put up with your drinking. You’re toxic, Em.’

‘And whose fault is that? Whose fault is it that I drink?’

Balantyne pushed his body close to Emma’s. He hissed his words: ‘I told you if you want to blame me then go ahead, blame it all on me.’

Again, Emma’s gaze darted over Balantyne’s face, which was only centimetres away. ‘Is she better than me?’

‘What? What are you talking about now?’

‘Her. Does she make you feel something that I don’t?’

Feeling the blood run down his face from the scratch on his head, Balantyne spoke softly. ‘Em, I’ve already told you, it’s just you and me.’

‘Then prove it … Prove that you love me. Let’s have a baby, Tony … You know how much I want a baby. Our own little family.’

‘Em, please … You can’t even look after yourself let alone a child at the moment—’ Balantyne felt the sting from the slap. His cheek turned red and the mark of Emma’s hand left a welt.

‘How dare you! How fucking dare you? Who do you think you are?’

‘I’m sorry okay. I didn’t mean that,’ Balantyne muttered.

‘But you did … Look at me, Tone, look at me!’

Desperate and unable to hold Emma’s gaze, Balantyne dropped his stare.

‘You can’t can you? You can’t even look at me. Do I repulse you that much?’ She looked him up and down. ‘I said, do I repulse you that much?’

Balantyne shook his head. He spoke quietly. ‘No … no, it’s just difficult … It’s all such a mess. And I’d be lying if I said that when I look at you, it doesn’t remind me of what happened … what I did, but that’s not to say you repulse me.’

The screech from Emma startled the cat who leapt away out of the room as Emma’s eyes flashed with anger and her hands moved down to Tony’s trousers. She began to unbutton his jeans. ‘Then why don’t you want me? I can tell you’re lying, you’re hiding something … and you can’t tell me I wouldn’t be a good mother – you know I would.’

Balantyne thought it wise not to say what he was actually thinking, so instead he mumbled, ‘For Christ’s sake … can’t you see, we just aren’t in a great place right now … Maybe in time—’ He stopped talking to grab hold of her hand before adding, ‘Em, stop, please, you’re not listening to me … I don’t want this.’

‘Well I do, and you owe me Tony, after what you did. You owe me.’

And as Balantyne – fighting back his emotions – stared at his wife and let her undo his trousers, the one thing that he couldn’t deny, whether he liked it or not, was that he did indeed owe her … Big time.

8

Not bothering to wait for the lift, Vaughn rushed up the thick, grey carpeted stairs to the second landing. Shit. He was annoyed with himself. It was a stupid mistake. He must’ve missed seeing Huang and his men walk into the block of flats when he’d gone to the counter to order the drinks. Fuck.

Rushing onto Alfie’s landing, he raced down the corridor, knocking over the large potted plant in the corner. He could feel his heart racing and sweat dripped down the back of his shirt. He knew from personal experience that Huang was vicious and inhumane, getting his kicks out of violence. He just hoped that he wasn’t too late.

Hearing Shannon run up behind him, Vaughn’s thoughts suddenly came to an abrupt halt as he saw Mia crawling happily along the corridor in his direction.

‘What’s she doing out here?’ Shannon said, her voice filled with worry. As she went to scoop up Mia, Vaughn held her back, his eyes darting up and down the corridor as he listened out for any noise.

‘Wait. There could still be somebody inside the flat.’

Shaking Vaughn’s grip off her arm, Shannon moved forward towards Mia. ‘I don’t care who’s about. I ain’t leaving her there, and if you ask me, the only person in that flat is Alfie, pissed out of his head.’

Vaughn hissed as his temper rose. ‘For fuck’s sake, turn it in and just do as you’re told.’

Ignoring him, Shannon picked up Mia who gurgled in delight, though her chubby little face was stained with dry tears.

Fuming, Vaughn growled. ‘Don’t you ever listen to anyone anymore?’

‘When it comes to her I don’t and I told you we shouldn’t do this. I told you leaving Mia with him was a bad idea.’

‘Will you just shut the hell up? For fuck’s sake, Shan, this ain’t about his parenting skills, is it? You just don’t get it, do you?’

Bouncing Mia in her arms, Shannon – having no clue about Huang and no idea why Vaughn was so upset – wiped her nose with her sleeve. ‘Say what you want, it was always going to end tits up when it came to Alfie.’

‘Keep your voice down, will ya, and your mouth shut. If it wasn’t for Alfie, you would still be working for your uncle Charlie. After all, he was the one who took you in and helped you in the first place. So think on before you slag him off,’ Vaughn whispered angrily as he pulled out his gun from his jacket pocket. He glared at Shannon. ‘Take her back to my flat.’

Shannon stared at the gun, suddenly appreciating that whatever was happening was serious. Worried, she shook her head. ‘I ain’t leaving you here. You might need me.’

Incensed and on high alert Vaughn spoke through gritted teeth. ‘And what are you going to do, hey? Fight them off with Mia’s dummy? Now stop being so frigging stupid and go.’

A flash of hurt ran through Shannon’s eyes. ‘I’m just saying that …’

Vaughn interrupted. ‘Well, don’t. I ain’t got fucking time for this. It’s a big enough worry knowing Alfie’s just been paid a visit from a man who makes Hannibal Lecter look sane, and I don’t want to worry about you as well. Now just go home, will ya?’

In the long, cream, quiet corridor Shannon tilted her head as she stared at Vaughn. Shyly she asked, ‘You … you worry about me?’

‘Shan, will you just piss off home?’

As Shannon turned to go, a small smile appeared on her lips. She knew it. She just knew she’d been right about Vaughn. He did care. He did worry about her and maybe he was even beginning to fall in love with her …

None the wiser to Shannon’s feelings, Vaughn raced down the hallway to Alfie’s flat, where only a couple of hours ago he’d kicked down the front door.

He paused, readying himself. In the back of his mind he couldn’t help thinking that the most sensible course of action would be to call some of his men, but that would mean waiting, and maybe Alfie just didn’t have time.

Feeling the prickle of sweat at the back of his neck, Vaughn pushed himself against the wall. Then after a mental countdown he craned his head around the doorway, his heart thumping. Immediately he froze at the scene in front of him. There on the floor in a pool of his own blood was Alfie.

‘Jesus Christ.’ Checking left and right, Vaughn quickly tucked away his gun as he ran forward. He bent down to take Alfie’s pulse … Yeah, yeah, he could feel it. Relief washed over him. He let out a long sigh then spoke warmly. ‘Alf, Alf, can you hear me mate?’

There was no sound from Alfie, and Vaughn, staring at the slice across Alfie’s cheek, shook him gently. ‘Alfie, it’s me … It’s me, Vaughn.’

A small groan came from Alfie, and encouraged by the noise, Vaughn continued to speak. ‘Do you want me to help you sit up?’

Struggling to speak, let alone open his eyes, and with his whole body hurting, Alfie murmured, ‘I just don’t think I can. My head’s banging and my face feels like it’s been through a shredder.’

‘I know, mate, and it certainly looks that way … You’ll need to get that cut seen to – it’ll need some stitches. I can take you up to A & E.’

Alfie tried to shake his head as he felt the thumping pressure behind his right swollen eye. He grimaced, unable to remember the last time he felt so much pain. ‘No, no way, I ain’t going. There’ll be too many questions. I’ll sort it, I’ll get Davey to do it.’

Vaughn nodded. Davey was an old-timer – once an East End face to be reckoned with – and someone who could give any surgeon or doctor a run for his money when it came to pulling out bullets or sewing up knife wounds. He was a handy guy to have about, because as Alfie said, it stopped any unwanted questions.

‘Don’t worry, I can give him a call … Look, let me help you up.’

Vaughn scooped his arm under Alfie’s shoulders, carefully helping his friend to sit upright. Alfie yelped in pain; his body ached and his face was a rainbow of red and blue bruises. The slash on his face wept and oozed blood, and his eye was so swollen that he couldn’t see out of it. His nose ran with blood, and a gash on his forehead sat under his hairline. His lip was torn and engorged.

‘Fucking hell, Alf, do yourself a favour and don’t look in any mirrors.’

‘I ain’t planning to.’

Popping a cigarette carefully in Alfie’s mouth for him and giving him a light, Vaughn looked at him hard, not letting on how shocked he was to see him in such a state.

He’d known Alfie for as long as he could remember, though in truth, it’d had been Alfie’s brother, Connor, who he’d first been friends with. They’d been the best of mates, totally inseparable and to this day he missed him.

Even back in the early days – whilst he and Connor were closer than a lot of blood brothers were – he’d had a love-hate relationship with Alfie. And over the years there were many times he’d wanted to walk away from him. But he couldn’t; not even when Alfie had ripped him off, nor when Alfie had tried to get off with his missus, or when Alfie had put their lives at risk – and that was all because Vaughn had made a promise to Connor.

When Connor had died in his arms after a robbery had gone wrong, the last thing Connor had asked him was to look after Alfie, no matter what. And through a mixture of both guilt and love for Connor, that’s exactly what he’d been doing for all these years. But it’d been hard, really hard, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep on doing it, especially as he and Alfie had been clashing so much recently – and not over little things either. In particular he’d always hated the way Franny had such a hold over Alfie – so it was about time that she had her comeuppance.

Sighing and irritated now, he turned his attention back to the present.

‘So as you’re still alive, I guess you can start talking … Go on then, Alf, tell me about it.’

Propping himself up against the wall, Alfie, grateful for the cigarette, took a deep drag before slowly turning to Vaughn. ‘I don’t want to talk about Mia. I already told you, I didn’t want to see her.’

Annoyed at his attitude towards Mia, Vaughn said roughly, ‘I ain’t fucking talking about her. Though fuck knows I don’t know what your problem is with your own daughter. We can talk about that later.’

His face still seeping with pus and blood, Alfie mumbled out of his torn mouth, wincing at the incessant pain in his lips, ‘Then what? What the fuck are you going on about?’

‘Huang. What the fuck was Huang doing here?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Vaughn leant forward, speaking in a quiet hush. ‘Don’t treat me like a mug, Alf, you know exactly what I’m talking about, and if you don’t start spilling the beans, I’m going to finish off what Huang started.’

9

Shannon hurried along Lexington Street, holding on to Mia who wasn’t exactly light. She cut through to Beak Street, passing the Chinese herbal wellness centre and the old coffee house, pushing through the afternoon office crowds and negotiating her way around the groups of chatting visitors and people who’d ground to a dead halt to stare down at their phones.

She knew these streets and roads well; after all she’d spent most of her teenage years soliciting on them or searching for crack cocaine from the various drug dens that were hidden from the milling tourists. And truthfully, the whole place made her feel uncomfortable. It was a constant reminder of what she had been, what she had seen, and what she was afraid she still was.

She’d lost count of the number of blow jobs she’d given and how many times she’d laid on her back letting some overweight sweaty punter ride her hard as if she was a piece of meat, or the times her uncle had made her dance naked for a crowd of men who were old enough to be her great-granddad, let alone her granddad.

She shivered at the memories, feeling sick, the knot in her stomach always triggered when she thought back.

She glanced down at Mia who was looking up at her curiously and she smiled, her grin almost as gummy and toothless as the baby’s. ‘And none of that is going to happen to you, is it, Mia? You’re going to have a good life, ain’t you? You’re not going to let any frigging—’

‘Hello, Shannon. Fancy seeing you here.’

The voice coming from behind her made sixteen-year-old Shannon almost vomit. The nausea rose and she tasted the bile at the back of her throat. Swallowing it back down, she trembled and began to turn around. There in front of her was Uncle Charlie. The same Uncle Charlie who’d always talked in bust lips, black eyes, broken ribs and knocked-out teeth.

Seeing his niece, Charlie Eton licked his lips. He surveyed her hungrily. The last time he’d seen her she’d been a scrawny drug addict without an ounce of fat on her; her skin had been sallow and spotty and her face often unwashed. But now, she looked like a turkey that had been fattened up for Christmas. ‘Now look at you, all done up like a dog’s fucking dinner. You must be sucking the bollocks off Vaughn and Alfie to get them to look after you so well. Finally you’ve got a bit of weight on that skeleton of yours.’

Shannon’s big green eyes filled up with tears as she looked down at Charlie who sat in a wheelchair, a result of Alfie doing what she wished she’d done a long time ago – taking a gun and shooting off one of his kneecaps.

Charlie’s bald head shone in the May sun, his nose and face a ruddy red map of veins.

Eventually trusting herself enough to speak, Shannon glared at her uncle from under her fringe of red curly hair, her bottom lip quivering. ‘It ain’t like that.’

‘Oh come on, Shan. I know you and I know men and there’s no way Alfie and Vaughn would be looking after the likes of you if you weren’t shoving them huge tits in their faces and nibbling on their dicks like there was no tomorrow.’

Shannon covered Mia’s ears. ‘Not everyone wants what you wanted. Not everyone’s as sick as you.’

Charlie’s hand flew up, his face screwed up in anger, as he grabbed Shannon’s arm. ‘I never heard you complain when you were with me.’

Even though she hated herself for it, Shannon was crying now. ‘No, and you know why? Cos if I did you’d just batter me, so you get to learn that complaining ain’t gonna get you nowhere.’

Charlie smirked nastily then changed tack. ‘Why don’t you just come home, Shan? You belong there. We all miss you.’

Shannon snorted in derision, ignoring the odd looks she was getting from passers-by. ‘The only thing you miss is the money I earned you.’

Charlie’s beady eyes stared at her hard. ‘That’s not true.’

Distraught, Shannon buried her face against Mia’s head, seeking comfort, seeking to find strength to stand up to Charlie.

Taking a deep breath and inhaling the smell of Mia’s freshly washed baby hair, Shannon lifted up her head. She glared at her uncle. ‘It is true, and I never did anything other than be on me back or on my knees … You know something, I’d never been to a restaurant or to the cinema until Vaughn took me. Can you believe that? I never walked inside one, ever.’

Charlie shrugged. ‘I never said me name was Pearl & Dean, did I? Oh come on, Shan, if that’s what it takes for you to be happy, I’ll take you to the bleedin’ cinema. I’ll even get you some popcorn.’ He stopped and a twinkle appeared in his eyes before he continued with, ‘And in return, whilst you’re watching Dumbo, you can wank me off in the back row.’ He burst into laughter before it turned into a nasty cough. He wiped away the thick lump of yellow spit from his chin and grinned. ‘That was a joke, it was a joke! Jesus, Shan, you don’t have to look like that, do you?’

Verging on hysterical, Shannon shook her head furiously, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘But it ain’t a joke, is it? Well, is it? How many times have I done that to you … How many? And how young was I when it first happened?’

Nonplussed, Charlie gave an exaggerated yawn. ‘How the hell do I know?’

‘I’ll tell you, shall I? I was eight. That’s what you gave me for my eighth birthday. What was it … what did you say to me? Here you go, Shan, get your lips round that. Happy birthday. Most kids get a fucking Barbie or … or a Matchbox car. Not me, I got my uncle’s dick.’

‘Oh drop me out, you wanted it. It was mutual.’

Shannon wanted to scream, and if it wasn’t for the fact she was holding Mia she would’ve done, but instead she bit down on her lip, drawing blood as her body was racked with sobs. The pain in her voice cut through the air. ‘I was eight! Eight, Uncle Charlie, eight.’

‘Look, for the life of me I don’t know why you’re crying, but you’ve obviously got a problem. Like I say, you need to come home … You know what I think? I think you’re missing us, Shan – or at least this.’ Charlie went into his pocket, pulled something out, then had a quick look around before he opened his fist. Lying in the middle of his palm was a rock of crack.

On seeing what it was Shannon jumped backwards as if she’d had an electric shock. She shook her head and she could feel the beads of sweat prick at her forehead.

Charlie cackled. ‘I thought you might like that. Go on, take it. You can have that on me.’

‘I don’t want it.’

‘That’s not what your eyes are saying. Look at them, they’re lighting up like it’s the frigging Blackpool Illuminations.’

Shannon stared at the tiny off-white rock of crack, lying on Uncle Charlie’s palm. That tiny piece of cooked-up cocaine had nearly killed her and it had changed her into someone she didn’t want to be.

She would’ve done anything, sold anything, just for a hit on the pipe. And the worst thing about it, when she was high, she had actually liked it. It had made her forget; it had helped her to cope with the pain of her life. Pain was something she didn’t like and wasn’t very good at handling.

So she knew she needed to stay far away from it because if she ever went there again, she would lose everything. And losing everything when she’d only just found life was something she didn’t even want to contemplate … Because, above all else, she would lose Vaughn.

‘I’m not interested – that’s all in the past for me.’

Charlie rubbed his tongue over his teeth, tasting the remains of the breakfast he’d had a few hours ago. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Shan. You were born a smack baby and you’ve lived your life as a crack baby, so whether you like it or not, this will always be in your DNA. It’s a part of you. Face it, Shan, there’s no escape, so you might as well take it, because sooner rather than later you’ll be banging down my door begging for it,’ he said nastily.

Crying hard now – which set Mia off – Shannon blubbered out her words as she tried to stand up to the man she’d always been terrified of. ‘Stop it! Just stop, I ain’t interested. I don’t want it anymore, I’ve got something better now.’

Charlie roared with laughter, giving the passing traffic warden a fright. ‘Better? Better? You’re trying to tell me looking after that little sprog is better than the life you had?’

‘Yeah I am. For your information, I enjoy looking after Mia – and Vaughn treats me well. He’s a gentleman.’

There was something in the way Shannon said it that made Charlie stop and stare at her for a number of seconds before he said, ‘Oh my God, you stupid, stupid fucking bitch.’

Wiping her tears away, Shannon looked at her uncle in puzzlement. ‘What?’

‘You’ve fallen for him, ain’t you? You’ve got a tingle in your pussy for Vaughn, haven’t you? You stupid cow.’

Not sounding very convincing, Shannon shouted, ‘No of course I ain’t – what do you take me for?’

Charlie pointed at Shannon, his eyes a mixture of anger and amusement. ‘Let me tell you something: he would never look at you twice. Look at the state of you, you’re nothing but a little scrubber and soon, Shan, soon, he’s going to get fed up of you – especially if you ain’t even sucking his dick. He’ll get someone else to look after Mia and then you’ll be back in the gutter.’

‘That’s not true! That’s not true.’

Feeling the chill wind pick up, Charlie zipped up his navy tracksuit jacket. ‘But it is true, Shan. The problem is you just don’t want it to be true.’

‘Leave me alone, leave me alone!’ Shannon turned and started to run down Broadwick Street, holding Mia tightly against her. She pushed past the group of tourists again, hearing her uncle shout after her.

‘Mark my words, Shan, you’re nothing to him. Nothing.’

And as Shannon continued to run, something deep inside her began to believe her uncle’s words.

10

Vaughn stared at Alfie, who was sat on the high leather stool in the kitchen. From where he stood, he could see the whole of Old Compton Street out the wide, tinted panoramic window. It was busy; the theatregoers had come out in their droves and crowds of tourists and Londoners had descended on Soho to enjoy the sunny May day.

But as Vaughn continued to stand and watch Davey sew up Alfie’s cheek, his thoughts were slightly distracted … He’d texted and called Shannon, but so far, he hadn’t heard anything back. And maybe it was nothing and he was just winding himself up. After all she was street-savvy, more than she should be … But, and it was a big but, she was just a kid. A kid who not so long ago was on crack cocaine and anything else she could get her hands on.

He rubbed his head, massaging his temples. Fuck, he had to stop this. He was just being paranoid. He trusted her – or at least he thought he did – and besides Shannon seemed to be thriving looking after Mia. Plus, he’d already read her the riot act about even speaking to people from her old life, and that if she ever went near the pipe again, she could wave goodbye to him and Alfie looking out for her. Hopefully that was a big enough incentive as anything else, better than any expensive rehab treatment.

He’d seen it too many times before. He’d seen people think they could still acquaint themselves with their old life, thinking what harm would it do. But only too quickly and too easily they were spiralling back down the dark, drug-fuelled rabbit hole.

‘For fuck’s sake, do you have to jab me like that? What happened to a bit of TLC?’

Davey Stevens laughed, his slim face crinkling up in a mass of wrinkles as his grey eyes watered. ‘Stop being such a drama queen.’

Alfie glared at Davey, looking at the long, sharp suture needle he was using. ‘It fucking hurts, and you ain’t exactly Florence Nightingale. I think you need to work on your gentle touch a bit.’

Again, Davey laughed as Alfie took a swig from the bottle of whiskey next to him. He felt sick from the pain but sicker from the fact that Huang and his men thought that it was okay to come to his flat and give him a pasting. And the worse thing was: he knew it wasn’t over; it had only just begun.

Wincing at the whiskey as well as the pain of Davey sewing up his face, Alfie tried to distract himself from his thoughts. He glanced around the expensive white and silver kitchen before his gaze came to rest on Vaughn, noticing the worry on his face.

Still in acute agony, and through gritted teeth, Alfie said, ‘What’s up with you? You look like you’ve walked in on someone fucking your missus.’

Vaughn, irritated by Alfie’s comment but also not wanting to tell him the truth about his concerns about Shannon, snarled, ‘Turn it in, Alf, and as if you have to ask what the matter is.’

‘Well it seems like I do,’ Alfie snapped back, just as irritated.

‘What the fuck do you think’s wrong with me? I leave your daughter with you for a couple of hours then when I come back, you’ve been sliced up. Are you really surprised I ain’t happy?’

Bitterness poured from Alfie’s mouth, his thick black hair falling over the gash on his forehead. ‘Oh, so it’s my fault is it? I’m to blame for cutting up my face, am I? Well thanks for the sympathy.’

Knowing that he could trust Davey, who no doubt was a keeper of a lot more secrets than just theirs, Vaughn felt comfortable to continue to speak in front of him. ‘Do me a favour will you, Davey? Stab that fucking needle into him, will ya? Stick some sense in him, cos he’s starting to do my head in.’

Pushing Davey out of the way, Alfie – with the thread still attached to the needle hanging down from his cheek – jumped up from his seat, marching across to where Vaughn was leaning. He held his ribs, feeling the throb in them from where Huang’s men had kicked him senseless. ‘What is your problem? I already told you not to bring her. I ain’t interested, so if anyone’s to blame, it’s you, because as usual you wouldn’t listen.’

Vaughn moved away from Alfie to grab hold of the packet of cigarettes on the side. He lit one up, inhaling deeply, staring at Alfie in anger. ‘Alf, you’re not getting it. Look at the state of you: you can hardly see through one eye, your mouth looks like it’s been put through the mincer and your cheek is half hanging off. This ain’t anything to do with me bringing Mia to you, but whilst we’re on that subject, I ain’t happy you never told me about Huang, cos I certainly would’ve thought twice about leaving her here if you had.’

‘Well I told you not to.’

Vaughn prodded Alfie in his chest. ‘Don’t give me that, you weren’t concerned about her – you’ve already said as much. You’re just pissed off that I found out … So go on then, what have you done, Alf? How did you fuck him over … Why is Huang after the great Alfie Jennings?’

Feeling ill again from the pain, Alfie slumped down on the stool once more. The last thing he wanted was for Vaughn to chew off his ear, and besides, thinking about what happened – talking about it – opened too many boxes for him, stuff he just didn’t want to deal with.

‘Leave it, Vaughn, will you? Anyway, you’re just presuming that it was Huang. You’re the only one who’s mentioned his name.’

Taking another drag of the cigarette, Vaughn stared contemptuously at Alfie before laughing bitterly. ‘Oh, do me a favour, don’t try to mug me off. I saw Huang come out of these flats. You’re not trying to tell me that it was a coincidence and the person who did that to your face was someone entirely different.’

Getting almost to the end of the whiskey, Alfie took another slug then spoke wearily. ‘I ain’t trying to tell you nothing. Can we just do this another day?’

‘No, mate, we can’t cos right now, I’ve got the upper hand. You’re in a hell of a lot of pain, crippled with agony no doubt, and the last thing you want me to do is to keep at you. So that’s exactly what I’m going to do: keep at you. I’m not going anywhere until I find out exactly what’s going on. And both you and I know, by tonight you’ll be gagging to tell me the truth, just to shut me the fuck up.’

11

Deep in thought, Franny walked along the prison corridor to the showers, passing a group of women who were chatting outside one of the cells. They gave her hostile stares, but rather than turn away she stared back; cold and steely, narrowing her eyes to give a threatening glare, until the taller of the women, suddenly seeming less assured, dropped her gaze to the floor.

In this place it was dog eat dog, and the first sign of weakness … well, she knew only too well that not only would the vultures begin to circle, that’s when the nightmare would really begin.

Bullying and violence were big problems in most prisons and certainly the one she was in. And although it was mainly the men’s prisons that were written about in the media, the women’s jails had their fair share of trouble. Whatever the men did, the women could do it just as well.

The wing she was on was a mixed bag; unlike some prisons where they kept them separate, the long-termers and the women on remand were held together. Apparently it was supposed to help the remand prisoners integrate to prison life by having the long-termers support and mentor them. To her, that was a joke – it was prison, not Girl Guides, and the simple fact was that everyone was out for themselves. It was the only way to survive.

Yawning, and feeling a sharp tension in her shoulders and back, Franny continued down the noisy corridor, carrying a towel and a prison washbag. The sound alone was difficult to get used to. Day or night, the whole prison was a constant racket of women shouting and calling, banging and clattering, peals of laughter and screams of terror. But the sound she found most difficult was the wailing from the psychiatric wing. Unremitting howls that sent a chill down even her spine. And not for the first time it struck Franny that, of all the things she hadn’t appreciated before she’d arrived, the biggest was the simple pleasure of silence.

Turning the corner to the showers, Franny hoped that this time they wouldn’t be filthy. Yesterday when she’d gone in there, the whole place looked like it had been used as a pig shed. Shit and vomit had been wiped all over the cracked beige and green tiled floor and walls and it had taken all her willpower to stop herself vomiting from the smell alone. So she was praying that, today, there wouldn’t be any nasty surprises in store.

Pushing open the large swing door, Franny was relieved to see it was not only pretty clean but also empty. Grateful, she made her way to the far-end cubicle; entering and leaning on the cool of the tiles, she sighed.

She felt tired, drained of all energy, and it hadn’t helped that last night she’d slept heavily and dreamt of Spain, a place she had fond memories of. So when she’d woken, it had taken her a few seconds to get her bearings and realise where she was – and when she had, the reality had come crashing down on her like a crowbar.

Placing her washbag and towel on the floor, Franny put her head in her hands, knowing that no one was watching – there was no CCTV – and for the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt the tears well up and begin to fall.

Immediately angry with herself for being weak, she took a deep breath, wiped the tears away with her sleeve and felt the simmering hatred in her soul for Vaughn rise up once again. And she welcomed that, because that feeling would keep her strong.

Wrapping her long chestnut hair in a bun, Franny took off her grey marl sweater and sweat pants and clicked on the shower, straight away letting out a groan. It was freezing cold; yet again, it seemed the prison boilers weren’t working. But having no other choice, she gritted her teeth and began to wash herself quickly, trying to scrub the smell of prison out from her skin.

Shivering and with her body now covered in goose pimples from the cold, Franny washed the last of the soap away before clicking off the shower. Hearing voices coming from down the other end, she grabbed her clothes, pulling them on without bothering to dry herself.

Slipping her elasticated pump shoes on – the lace-up ones having being confiscated due to the prison’s suicide risk policy – Franny stepped out of the shower to see Christine Lucas and her cronies huddled up in the far corner, laughing like a bunch of hyenas.

Not wanting to get involved in whatever they were up to, she took another quick glance at them, picked up her washbag and started to make her way out.

Christine, having not spotted Franny until that moment, turned her head and grinned as she stopped what she was doing to block Franny’s way. Her neck fat jiggled as she chuckled at Franny. Her Geordie accent as strong as ever as she said, ‘Well hello, pet, this is a nice surprise. It’s a shame I wasn’t here a few minutes ago, I could’ve helped you soap yourself down. Help you get into all those tricky places.’ She licked her lips, flicking off the dry piece of food stuck to her mouth.

From the corner of her eye, Franny could see there was someone on the floor hidden behind where the other women were standing. Not only that, she could see a trickle of blood making its way from whoever it was lying there to one of the drains in the centre of the shower area.

Franny nodded towards the blood. She spoke as coldly as she felt. ‘Someone had an accident?’

Christine stepped nearer to Franny. Her eyes blazed with hatred. ‘It depends on your definition of an accident, pet.’

Franny shook her head. She glanced down at the ground before looking back up at Christine. ‘Anyway, it ain’t nothing to do with me, so if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.’

But as Franny went to step around Christine, her path was blocked once more. ‘I think you must’ve forgotten what I told you, love. I run this place. So I say what people do and don’t do. I say when they piss, I say when they shit and I say when they sleep, and I also say you’re not going anywhere until we finish that chat we were having before.’

Even though Franny was more than used to violent confrontation, her heart still began to beat faster and she could feel her mouth becoming dry. ‘I ain’t got anything to say to you, Christine. So how about we keep out of each other’s way? It’ll do us both a favour.’

Christine burst out into laughter, her beady eyes disappearing under the fat on her cheekbones. ‘In another life perhaps you and I would’ve been friends. I like a woman who can hold her own.’

‘Let’s just get this clear from the start: I would never be friends with the likes of you, no matter what life we were in.’

The tension between the women was palpable as Christine spoke. ‘So I take it you’ve heard what I did?’

‘Yeah, Christine, I know exactly what you did. We all know how you took a hammer to your kids and battered them to death, and you wear that fact like you’re wearing a frigging rosette.’

Christine shrugged. Again she smiled. ‘Well, what can I say? I’m famous.’

With as much hatred as she could muster, Franny whispered, ‘No, Christine. You’re evil. Make no mistake about that, and everyone around here knows it; it’s just that they don’t say it.’

Christine’s face darkened. She turned to the other women. ‘Is that what you all think?’

The women chuckled but didn’t answer, as Christine added, ‘Shall we show her what happens to smart-mouthed bitches?’

The circle of women opened up and there on the floor, her face sliced to ribbons and the word dead carved into her forehead, was a young woman, probably no older than twenty.

Franny ran her tongue along the back of her teeth and stared coolly without blinking, making sure she gave no reaction to Christine.

‘Why aye, pet, you’re a hardened bitch, aren’t you? Not even a flinch. You play the game nearly as good as I do. Not that it makes much difference – like I say, I’m the one who calls the shots around here.’

Christine stopped talking to nod to a tall, skinny blonde woman with tattoos and self-harm markings covering both her arms. ‘Keep watch for me will you, pet?’ Not having to be asked twice, the woman grinned and sauntered to the door. Then turning back to Franny, Christine winked. ‘That’s better, we won’t be disturbed now.’ And with those words Christine Lucas slammed her elbow viciously into Franny’s nose.

Blood spurted out and across Franny’s cheeks like a fountain, and for a moment she felt light-headed. The whole room spun around. She staggered backwards as Christine – to the roar of the rest of the gathered women – lunged at her again. But, being faster and more agile, Franny ducked just in time, avoiding Christine’s clenched fist.

Managing to grasp Christine around her waist, Franny pushed and slammed her into the tiled walls with a loud thud, but not before Christine gripped hold of Franny’s hair, pulling it so hard that it felt to Franny like it was being ripped right out of her scalp.

The impact of being barged against the wall made Christine lose her balance. She fell sideways, taking Franny down with her like a ton of bricks.

Her teeth bit down on her tongue and with her mouth full of blood, Franny tried to clamber off Christine, stretching out for her washbag. She grabbed hold of it but immediately she felt Christine’s grip on her ankle.

To the baying sound of the women, Franny frantically kicked at her, twisting her body to shake herself free as she quickly scrambled to open her washbag, pulling out the sharpened-ended toothbrush to use as a weapon.

Breaking free of Christine’s grip, Franny was able to jump up, holding the makeshift shank in her hand, the end of the toothbrush razor sharp and pointed, ready if needed to do some damage.

Her voice was hard and dangerous as she glared at Christine. ‘Come near me, and I won’t think twice about using this. Do you understand me?’

Christine’s face broke into a smile. She pulled up her trouser leg – which exposed a huge, faded fist tattoo on her calf – and grabbed something out from her sock. ‘Oh I understand, but you’re not the only one who enjoys a fight.’

Franny stared at what Christine held in her hand. Like her own weapon – which, if they were sensible, most of the women carried and hid on their persons for protection – Christine’s shank was made out of a toothbrush, but unlike hers, Christine had melted the end of it and inserted razor blades into the plastic. ‘Come on then, Franny, what are you waiting for, love?’

With her heart pounding, and her eyes fixed on the shank, Franny stood working out what she was going to do. She was outnumbered and right now she wouldn’t have placed her money on getting out unscathed.

She glanced over to the small group of women who gazed back at her curiously and seeing Franny on the back foot, Christine cackled again, spinning the shank in her hand. ‘Seems like our Franny’s going to lose that pretty face of hers. Howay, man, never mind!’

‘Screws are coming, screws are coming!’ Suddenly, the blonde-haired woman who’d been keeping guard rushed in, shouting out her warning.

There was an immediate scramble as the women darted out of the shower room but not before Christine, with the quickest of flicks, nicked Franny on her neck with the razor blade.

Flinching, Franny’s hand shot to her neck. She could feel it was only superficial but the pain was still sharp and she felt the warmth of her blood beginning to flow through her fingers.

Christine hurried towards the door. As she was about to exit, she turned back and said, ‘Take that as a warning. Next time, pet, you’ll look more like her.’

She laughed as she nodded towards where the young woman was lying in a pool of her own blood, her face torn and carved up, and with that Christine disappeared out of the room.

12

Rushing over to the woman on the floor, Franny bent down. She spoke quietly to her. ‘Hey, you’re okay now. They’ve gone. Can you get up at all?’

Through half-closed eyes the woman – barely being able to move her head – looked at Franny, who stared curiously back at her. Or rather who stared curiously at what was in her mouth. She had something stuffed into it. Carefully, Franny opened the woman’s mouth, prising her fingers between her teeth to pull out the soggy mess. The minute she did so, the woman began to cough and splutter.

‘Take a deep breath, that’s it.’ Fearfully, the woman glanced at Franny and even though she didn’t say anything, Franny could see the gratitude in her eyes.

Chucking the paper on the floor, Franny suddenly saw that it had something written on it. Intrigued, she picked it up, but immediately her attention was drawn back to the woman, who started to vomit violently. Shoving the paper in her pocket for later, Franny gently rubbed the woman’s back whilst she retched noisily.

Wincing slightly as she watched, Franny spoke warmly, ‘That’s it, doll. Get it all out, sweetheart.’

It was after a couple of minutes – and after Franny herself began to feel sick – that the woman actually did get it all out. She turned to Franny, her voice trembling and so quiet that Franny had to crane forward to hear what she was saying.

‘Thank you, I dunno what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along. I think she would’ve killed me …’

Franny had no doubt that’s exactly what would’ve happened. She really wanted to ask the woman a lot of questions but it was clear she was in no fit state, so instead she simply asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Jessie.’

Giving a small smile, Franny nodded. ‘Well it’s good to meet you. I’m Franny by the way. Look, let’s get you under the shower shall we? And then you need to get looked at. The cuts are deep, but I reckon they’ll be able to fix you up.’

Before Franny had time to say anything else, the door of the shower room was abruptly opened. Standing in the doorway were four prison officers and on seeing them Franny muttered under her breath, ‘Shit.’

The stockier, more masculine-looking screw stared at Franny. She spoke in a Scottish accent. ‘What’s happened here, Doyle?’

Standing up, Franny said nothing as the prison officers walked over to her and Jessie.

‘I asked you a question, what happened here?’

Again, Franny didn’t answer. There was an unwritten rule in prison. It was simple: never say anything. Not unless you wanted the whole prison on your back. Even when the governor would promise the women a safe transfer to another prison to grass someone up, word would travel to the place you were going and life would be a living hell. Franny knew only too well that there was no room in prison for a grass: no matter what, it was still a question of the screws on one side, and the women on another.

‘The cat got your tongue? Because if it hasn’t you better have a good reason for not answering me. Not that I can’t see for myself.’

Franny spoke evenly. ‘Then why ask?’

Realising she wasn’t going to get anything from Franny, Officer Brown crouched down to give Jessie an icy glare. ‘So who did this to you? Come on, Jessie, look at the state of you. Even when they fix you up, your face is going to look like a game of criss-cross. You need to tell me the name of whoever it was so I can deal with them … Come on, Jess, you can’t go around protecting the scum that did this.’

Jessie’s eyes glanced up to Franny who gave a quick, small shake of her head, warning Jessie not to say a word. If Christine got one sniff that Jessie had said anything – which she would, especially as some of the prison officers liked to wind up and cause trouble amongst the women – it was doubtful Jess would make it back home alive.

Frustrated by both Franny and Jess, Officer Brown pushed slightly harder. ‘You better tell me, Jess, because I don’t like the fact that someone around here thinks they can do this and get away with it. Is that what you want? You want someone to slice you up and not answer for it? Just say the name for God’s sake and we can get you transferred out of here, or at least to another wing.’

Without saying anything, Jessie put her head down and stared at the floor as Officer Brown gave a rueful smile. She stood back up, brushing down her prison uniform and absentmindedly playing with the chain fixed to her security belt. She glared at Franny. ‘You bitches don’t do yourself any favours do you? You’re a bunch of animals and deserve …’

Suddenly, Officer Brown stopped what she was saying as her gaze came to rest on Franny’s washbag. Thrown by the side of it was her homemade shank.

Franny’s heart sank as she listened to Brown say, ‘Well, well, well, is that yours, Doyle?’

Feeling the dried blood on her nose and cheeks, Franny shook her head. She spoke ruefully. ‘If I say no, will you believe me?’

‘Not a chance and if you or Jessie won’t give me a name, whether you did this to Jessie or not – which just between you and I – I don’t think you did, I’m going to hold you responsible.’

‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ said Franny, laughing bitterly.

The officer shrugged. ‘It’s your call, Doyle. Are you going to tell me who did this?’

Franny leant towards Officer Brown. ‘Go to hell.’

‘Fine, have it your way, Doyle … So here’s how it’s going to work: I’m going to tell the governor that I’ve got the culprit and that we found the weapon. Easy really. Job done. I can get off home early. I mean, if you lot don’t want to help yourselves, why should I care what happens to you?’

Full of hostility, Franny stared back. Knowing what was coming she listened as Officer Brown spoke to the other members of staff. ‘Take Jessie down to the medical wing and I’ll take Doyle to seg, give her some time to think about the error of her ways.’

And as Franny was dragged off to segregation by Officer Brown, the only feeling she had was of revenge, but it wasn’t Christine Lucas she was out for. She had two other people on her mind: Vaughn Sadler and Detective Balantyne.

13

On the other side of London, Detective Balantyne gazed in the mirror of his office bathroom. He felt terrible and looked even worse. After the argument with Emma, he’d wanted to get out of the house – away from her and away from her drinking – so he’d pulled up in a lay-by near work on the north side of Woolwich and made his car his bed for the night.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that, and he knew it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He wanted out so badly; he wanted to get as far away from Emma as it was physically possible. But how the hell could he get out when the guilt over what had happened always ate him up, and the memory of that day was literally burnt on her face?

On the odd occasions he’d packed his bags to go, when the situation had become too intolerable to take any more, she’d screamed and cried, threatening to take her own life if he left. And every part of him had wanted to keep on walking and not turn around, but the problem was he knew that it wasn’t an empty promise. Emma would be prepared to die just so she could punish him – and God, how he fucking despised her for it.

He despised every part of her but especially her drinking, which had been a problem even before the day in question. From the beginning of their marriage she’d been drinking but she’d hidden it well. And then as time went by he’d either turned a blind eye to it or he’d been too busy with work to notice or to care. Then by the time he had realised, it was too late.

Emma was difficult at the best of times, but her drinking – which seemed to start almost from the moment she woke up – made her completely impossible to deal with. And it made an already difficult situation a whole lot worse, a whole lot nastier.

And as much as he hated to admit it, over the last few months he’d found himself putting his hands on her more and more. Slapping her around a bit … Only a bit … Not hard, not like some of the men he used to arrest when he was a bobby on the beat, the ones who would knock their wives so senseless they’d look like they’d been in a road traffic accident … No, he wasn’t like that. Okay, he’d left a few marks, a few bruises, a few cuts … But Jesus, what did she expect if she was always pushing him, always pouncing on him the minute he walked through the door, always accusing him of sleeping with anything that moved? Testing him, pushing him to the limits – and the fact was the drinking, the accusations and her obsession with having a baby had turned his life into a living nightmare.

So no, he didn’t want to be the kind of man who knocked his wife about, but she didn’t give him any choice.

‘Sir, the Chief’s waiting for you.’ A young officer – who for the life of him, Balantyne couldn’t remember the name of – popped his head around the men’s bathroom door. ‘She’s not very happy by the way … But when is she?’

He nodded and answered half-heartedly as he continued to adjust his tie in the mirror.

‘Thanks, I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

‘I think she wants you now, sir. She was very adamant about that.’

Balantyne swivelled around to stare at the young officer. His tone was as hard as his steely gaze. ‘I said, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Now if that isn’t fucking good enough for the Chief or you, then there’s nothing much I can do.’

‘It’s just that—’

Before the officer could finish, Balantyne jumped at him, dragging and pulling him up against the wall. He pushed his forearm into the man’s neck, his eyes bulging. ‘What is it that you didn’t understand about what I just said? Didn’t I say I was coming? Didn’t I say that I’d be with her in a few minutes?’

Spluttering and in shock, the officer nodded, unable to get his words out. Then suddenly, Balantyne dropped his hold, realising what he was doing. He shook his head at himself as he mumbled a half apology whilst attempting to straighten the startled officer’s uniform. ‘Jesus, I’m sorry, I’m sorry … I … I … Look, I’m just a bit tired. It’s no excuse I know, but … but … listen, can we just keep this between ourselves. No harm done, hey?’

Flustered, the young officer nodded. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and strained. ‘No harm done, sir.’ And without saying anything else he disappeared quickly out of the bathroom, leaving Balantyne to stare at himself once again in the mirror. He thought about Franny Doyle and he thought about Emma. Two bitches that he could do without.

As he continued to stare, rage surged through him and he smashed his fist against the glass. He watched the broken mirror fall into the sink before he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and felt the pricking of tears at the back of his throat. And not for the first time he realised how much he hated his life; it seemed he was going to be stuck with Emma forever if he didn’t think of a way out …

14

Half an hour later, Balantyne sat slumped, brooding and summoned, trying to keep his composure as he fought the temptation to give the Chief a piece of his mind. He wondered quite how it had come to this, and why it wasn’t him whose name was on the door of the office after he’d given his life to the service.

So now he had to sit opposite the newly promoted Chief Inspector Claire Martin, being admonished like he was a school kid.

He sighed as he gazed past her and out through the window, which looked over the River Thames.

‘Why am I getting the feeling I’m the only one in the room?’ Claire Martin’s voice cut through the air, jolting Balantyne out of the daze he found himself in.

Irritated, Tony stared at the Chief. She was young for the position she held and apart from the tiniest of crow’s feet beginning to show around her blue eyes – no doubt from the strain of the job – her petite features, smooth pale skin and blonde pixie bob gave her a youthful, and attractive, appearance. Balantyne suspected that, dressed in civilian clothes, no one would guess she held the position she did.

Suddenly needing a cigarette, Balantyne’s face looked like thunder. ‘I don’t know, ma’am, because I’m doing exactly what you want me to do. I’m sitting here listening. Anything else, I can’t help you with.’

Chief Inspector Martin came around from behind her desk to perch herself on the edge of the table. She stared at Balantyne as she sat opposite him, tapping her pen against her leg. ‘I don’t like your attitude, Detective, and I know I’m not the only one around here who doesn’t.’

Balantyne gave her a cutting stare and his voice dripped with bitterness. ‘I thought this conversation was about Franny Doyle, not about who does or doesn’t like me.’

It was Claire’s turn to feel irritated. She pursed her lips before she spoke, keeping her tone even. ‘I’ll make this conversation about what the hell I like, do you understand that? In case you’ve forgotten, it’s my name on the door and you need to get over that fact, otherwise I suggest you put in for a transfer to another division.’

Balantyne leant forward. ‘Don’t worry, ma’am, I haven’t forgotten. I can’t forget your name’s on the door especially as you seem to remind me at every opportunity you can.’

The room fell silent and tension sat in the air before Claire said, ‘Anyway, tell me what’s happening with the Doyle case. Are you any further forward? The CPS have been on my back because they’ve been reviewing the evidence and they need more. If we’re going to get a conviction – which as you know everyone’s desperate for – you need to bring more to the table … But no shortcuts. Play by the book. That’s the only way we’ll be able to nail her, by you playing it straight. The last thing we want is the case collapsing before it’s begun.’

‘You need to trust me on this. I’ll get Doyle, but I have to be able to do it my way.’

Chief Martin shook her head. Her voice verged on hostility. ‘No, and it’s not up for negotiation either. Play it by the book, Detective, or I’ll take you off the case.’

Furiously, Balantyne pointed his finger, emphasising each word he uttered with a jab in the air.

‘Doyle’s mine. I’ve spent years trying to pin the likes of her and Alfie Jennings down, and you have no right to threaten to take me off this case.’

‘Then don’t give me a reason to.’

Balantyne glared at Martin. He couldn’t understand her. She knew as well as anyone that to get Doyle, he had to play by their rules, which meant bending them. How the hell could she say that she wanted a conviction if he wasn’t allowed to do what was needed? But then again, what did he expect? She was a woman after all, and he’d never been able to understand women at the best of times, let alone in the male-dominated world of the police force – though even that balance was being challenged.

He thought about the influx of women who were coming through the doors, full of hormones and shouting out about having equal rights. But when you did treat them as an equal, Tony thought, with locker-room jokes and the traditional light-hearted initiations and innuendos, before you knew it they’d start making official complaints.

Over the years he’d been told he was a chauvinist, a bigot and even a sexist, but he just liked to think of himself as a real man – and real men had real women around them, who knew their place. And their place certainly wasn’t in charge of a few hundred men, making their decisions based on what time of the month it was.

Tony sighed. He knew it wasn’t the politically correct way to think but he also knew the truth; women’s decisions were first and foremost emotionally driven and he would be damned if he was going to listen and take orders from a woman whose idea of detective work was to find her lipstick in her oversized handbag.

Not that he’d always thought that way about Detective Martin … At one point he’d respected her, but things happen. Shit happened; it felt like there was more shit raining down on him than he’d like – and in his opinion, it all started and ended with the women he had around him.

‘Detective, I haven’t had your answer … Do I have your word or not? Am I going to have to take you off now or …’ She paused and her voice dropped to a softer tone as she rubbed her temples, feeling the first signs of a headache coming on. ‘Why do you have to make this so damn difficult? I’m not the enemy here. I want to see Doyle put away as much as you do but I need you to do it the right way. And I don’t want anyone knowing about Vaughn Sadler giving a statement. If they did, it would put the cat amongst the pigeons; someone could get hurt. There’d be a lot of trouble.’

‘Well, they won’t hear it from me.’

‘I’m not saying they would … Please, Tony, I’m not having a go at you.’

Detective Balantyne stood up. He straightened up his jacket and spoke coolly. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’

Chief Martin stepped towards Balantyne; she put her hand lightly on his arm. ‘Tony … wait. Are you okay? You don’t look so good … Is everything all right at home?’

Shaking her hand off him, Balantyne nodded. ‘I’m fine, everything’s fine. And now if you don’t mind …’

As Balantyne went to leave, she grabbed him. Her voice was gentle and quiet. ‘Don’t shut me out, Tony. Just tell me what’s happening. Talk to me. Please.’

It wasn’t Claire’s imagination that she could hear the pain and bitterness in his voice. ‘I can’t talk to you. Strictly work, remember? We agreed … or rather you did.’

‘What was I supposed to do, Tony? Emma needed you.’

Balantyne grabbed hold of Chief Martin’s arm. ‘Well, I needed you … I needed you.’

‘I know, but we couldn’t have carried on … Look, Emma was a mess.’

‘She’s always been a mess and … what happened, she did that to herself,’ growled Balantyne, shaking his head.

Chief Martin’s blue eyes filled with tears. ‘You don’t believe that. If you did, then why are you always blaming yourself and … and why did you end up in my bed again?’

Balantyne’s gaze darted over Claire Martin’s face. ‘Because I made a mistake … It happens … Now if you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ve got work to do.’

‘Fine, but don’t forget what I said. By the book, Tony – or you’re off the case.’

Claire Martin took a deep breath and pushed her personal feelings aside, watching out of her window as Balantyne marched over to his car. She’d known him for the past ten years and instead of mellowing over time, the man had become more unpredictable, though she suspected it might have less to do with the job and more to do with Emma and what had happened the night of the accident.

The thought of the accident made Claire feel the same familiar rising sense of guilt that had plagued her over the last two years. At the time, she’d seriously thought about quitting the force. But she hadn’t; instead she’d quit the relationship with Balantyne. Though it hadn’t brought closure – far from it: she’d been miserable and Emma’s drinking had got worse and Balantyne had hated her for it.

They’d hardly spoken since, working on different cases and generally avoiding each other. Until about three months ago, that was, when they’d found themselves working on the night shift together. Then unsurprisingly, one thing had led to another …

At the time she hadn’t regretted it. She’d missed him. He was a different person when he was with her: funny, warm, caring – a world away from his behaviour most of the time. And looking back, she didn’t think he’d regretted it either. But then, a couple of weeks after it’d happened, before they’d even had a chance to talk about where they were going to go from there, she’d got promoted to the job he’d been overlooked for, and he’d hated her all over again.

She sighed loudly as she continued to watch Balantyne’s car drive out of the station car park. The problem was, he was a stubborn man, always had been, and from what she could see, he always would be. A man who didn’t want to bend an inch to the inevitable changes that were filtering their way through the force and who resented where he was in life. Though she couldn’t blame him – his life had taken a turn that he couldn’t have possibly predicted.

As much as he was infuriating to work with, and not many of the other officers liked him, she had to admit that he was a bloody good detective. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the accident, it might’ve been his name on the door and not hers … Crap. There she went again, thinking about something she didn’t want to.

She was angry with herself now; every time she’d anything to do with him, the same old thoughts and feelings would shoot back around. But she’d be damned if she’d let her emotions rule her head when it came to her job. Detective Balantyne would abide by her orders over the Doyle case, or he would face the consequences.

A couple of hours later, Franny – who still had Balantyne and Vaughn firmly on her mind – lay on the hard mattress in the segregation wing. The cell was sparser than her own; it didn’t even have a window, only a flickering fluorescent light, which gave the whole place a sinister glow. The walls were a faded cream, and although they’d been scrubbed, Franny could see the remains of where a prisoner had smeared her name in blood.

She sighed as she stared at the ceiling, but suddenly a thought came to her. She sat up, swinging her legs off the bed before going into her pocket and pulling out the piece of paper that had been stuffed in Jessie’s mouth.

Looking up to make sure that none of the screws were peering in through the safety flap, Franny flattened out the crumpled-up paper. On it was written a set of numbers. It read like a sort code and what seemed to be a bank account number. She frowned, wondering quite why Christine and her cronies would stuff this into Jessie’s mouth. But then, there was only one way to find out …

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