Betrayed

by Roberta Kray

Genres: Crime Fiction

Synopsis

'A cracking good read' JESSIE KEANE

The brand new gangland crime novel from Roberta Kray.

IN THE EAST END OF LONDON, OLD LOYALTIES RUN DEEP . . .

After losing her mum in a tragic accident, Chrissy Moss fought to survive on one of the East End's most notorious estates. When a fifteen-year-old girl disappears, hours after delivering a message for a local gang leader, the residents take the law into their own hands causing buried secrets to resurface.

AND YOU MUST FIGHT TO SURVIVE.

With rumours flying about the girl's disappearance, the truth about Chrissy's mother is called into question, and Chrissy begins to suspect her death was no accident: it was murder. But people on the estate are refusing to talk, and to find answers Chrissy must unravel an age-old web of deceit that runs right into the heart of London's East End.

As Chrissy grows nearer to the truth, she unwittingly inches closer to danger. Could it be that she, like her mother, has put her trust in the wrong person?

Full of the same danger and grit as it's London's setting, this is author Roberta Kray at the top of her game. Get ready for a KILLER read . . .

Praise for ROBERTA KRAY:

'Well into Martina Cole territory' Independent

'Action, intrigue and a character-driven plot . . . sure to please any crime fiction fans' Woman

'Gripping' Daily Express

'Great writing, gripping story, loved it' Mandasue Heller

Release date: November 12, 2020

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 464

Sample

1975

Ten years later

The three girls sitting on the wall were at a dangerous age, no longer kids but still a few years off adulthood. They thought they knew it all as they swung their skinny legs against the warm brick, their elbows touching, their eyes drinking in the world around them. What they had was a six o’clock curfew. What they longed for was freedom, for their lives to properly begin, for all constraints to fall from them like chains.

There was nothing much to do except hang out. They had no money and no obvious means of getting any. Boredom coursed through their veins. On Sundays they were always at their most restless, knowing it was school the next day, knowing that the hours were ticking away and that tomorrow they’d be shut up in a classroom while a teacher tried to focus their scattergun minds on algebra or oxbow lakes or Dickens.

They were sitting in a line on the low wall near the entrance to the Mansfield estate. Chrissy Moss was in the middle with Zelda Graham to her left and Dawn Kearns to her right. Chrissy’s arms were tinged with pink where the sun had caught them yesterday. Zelda’s were smooth, the colour of caramel, and Dawn’s were pale, almost white, mottled with fresh and fading bruises. Chrissy didn’t ask about the bruises any more; the blue, brown, plum-coloured marks were always there.

Behind them loomed the three tall towers which could be seen for miles. Chrissy gazed down at her pink flip-flops, at the chipped nail polish on her toes, and looked up again. Her Uncle Pete said Kellston was a shithole and the estate was a sewer, a place where all the local waste was dumped and forgotten about. That’s when Nan got all huffy. If that’s how you feel, why don’t you find somewhere else to park your arse? But, of course, he didn’t have anywhere else. He’d only just come out of jug. She wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been in for – a robbery of some sort – but he’d been gone five years. It was cramped in the flat with him living there. She’d had to give up her bedroom and bunk in with Nan, who tossed and turned and seemed uneasy even when she did finally go to sleep, breathing wheezily into the darkness, muttering words that made no sense.

Nan was sad at how things had worked out for her kids. She didn’t come right out and say it but she didn’t need to. It was written all over her face. Pete, however hard he tried – and it wasn’t very – couldn’t keep on the straight and narrow. Laura had died in a terrible accident, falling under a train when she was twenty-three. Chrissy had only been four then and couldn’t remember much about her mum. All that remained was the photo kept on the mantelpiece, a picture of a young laughing girl with fair hair flying in the wind.

Chrissy raised a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes against the sun. They were watching everyone who came in and out of the estate. Just for something to do. Like security guards, only without the authority. Mainly they were watching the lads, grading them from one to ten. So far no one had got more than a four. It was a half-hearted sort of game, but it was better than nothing. They knew most of them, spotty oiks with mush for brains, boys who once upon a time had liked to pull their hair or call them names but now just stared at them through wary eyes.

The town hall clock struck two, echoing down from the high street. Music floated through an open window. Come up and see me, make me smile … There was no breeze and the air felt thick and heavy. Frank Yates cycled by on his bike, half raising a hand as if about to acknowledge them but then speeding past. ‘One,’ Zelda said. No one disagreed. The Dunlap brothers mooched past with their hands in their pockets. ‘Three,’ Dawn said. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. Or a four?’ Chrissy pulled a face. ‘Three,’ she said, ‘and that’s being generous.’ She wasn’t keen on the brothers: they smelled funny, musty, like they’d been left in a cellar for a long time. Carol Harper, a year above at school, waltzed by with her mother, putting her nose in the air and pretending not to see them. ‘Snotty cow,’ Dawn said.

People came and went. Nothing happened.

And then, out of the blue, he showed up. They didn’t know his name but they’d seen him before. Chrissy instantly sat up straighter. They all paid attention as he approached the estate. Nineteen or twenty, tall, slender, wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt. A bit of a swagger but not too much. Anyway, it was his face they were really staring at: sharp cheekbones stretched over olive skin, a generous mouth, eyes covered by a cool pair of shades. His dark brown hair, almost black, was straight and silky covering the nape of his neck. He stopped to light a cigarette a short distance from the entranceway.

‘Ten,’ Chrissy murmured.

‘I dare you,’ Dawn said. ‘I dare you to talk to him.’

Chrissy shook her head, narrowed her grey eyes. ‘You do it.’

‘Go on.’

‘No.’

‘You have to. I dared you.’

The god was alongside them now, almost close enough to touch. Chrissy took a deep breath and leaned forward a little. A dare was a dare. ‘Hey, how are you?’

He looked at her and grinned. ‘Hey yourself.’

Chrissy felt the colour rise to her cheeks. She didn’t know what to say next, was completely tongue-tied and just stared stupidly back at him.

It was Dawn who filled the awkward silence. ‘You got a spare fag?’

He thought about this for a moment and then reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pack, opened it and offered it to her. ‘Stunts your growth, you know.’

‘Hasn’t stunted yours,’ Dawn said.

‘I’m what they call the exception to the rule.’

Dawn pulled out a cigarette and popped it in her mouth. ‘Ta. You got a light?’

He flicked open his lighter and held it out. Dawn lit the cigarette, took a drag and passed it to Chrissy, who hoped she wouldn’t cough and embarrass herself. Although she nicked Uncle Pete’s fags now and again, she hadn’t quite got to grips with the art of inhaling.

‘So what are you girls up to?’

Chrissy puffed out some smoke and quickly passed the fag to Zelda.

‘We’re just hanging,’ Dawn said.

‘Hanging, huh?

‘Yeah. What about you?’

‘Oh, you know. Things to do, people to see.’

‘What’s your name, then?’

‘Eddie,’ he said. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Dawn. And this is Zelda; this is Chrissy.’

Chrissy had a breathless sensation like her chest was being squeezed, the same giddy feeling she got when she saw David Essex on the TV. Eddie looked a bit like him except his hair was straighter. Finally, she forced herself to speak again. ‘Do you live here?’

‘No, I’m just visiting. A friend.’

‘Your girlfriend?’

‘Nah, not my girlfriend.’ He glanced at each of them in turn and nodded. ‘Well, it’s been a pleasure, ladies. You have fun.’

‘See you, then,’ Dawn said. ‘Thanks for the fag.’

Eddie walked on. Chrissy, Zelda and Dawn turned to watch him. He was a few yards along the central path when he suddenly stopped, turned around and came back. Chrissy felt her heart jump into her mouth. Maybe he was going to ask one of them out. Maybe it would be her. Even though he’d spent more time talking to Dawn, she wasn’t without hope. Please God, let it be me.

But Eddie wasn’t thinking about romance. He had something else on his mind. ‘I don’t suppose you girls could do me a favour?’

‘Sure,’ Chrissy said too quickly, eager to please.

Dawn was more cautious. ‘What kind of favour?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing much. I’ve got a message for someone but I’m a bit pushed for time.’ He glanced at his watch and frowned. ‘You couldn’t do it for me, could you? To be honest, I should be somewhere else right now. By the time I take the lift and … Would you mind?’ He rummaged in his pocket, found some loose change and held up a coin. ‘There’s fifty pence in it for you.’

Dawn held out her hand. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘We’ll all do it,’ Chrissy said, disappointed that he only wanted them to run an errand but not wanting to miss out on her share of the reward. They could buy pop and sweets with what he was offering. She didn’t think to ask why he’d been standing around chatting if he was in so much of a hurry. ‘What’s the message?’

‘It’s for Anita, flat forty-eight, Haslow House. Just tell her Eddie sent you. Tell her … tell her the stock’s come in and she can take her pick. Can you remember that?’

‘The stock’s in and she can take her pick,’ Chrissy dutifully repeated.

‘And the flat number?’

‘Forty-eight.’

‘Good. I can trust you, can’t I?’

‘Course you can,’ Dawn said.

Eddie dropped the coin into Dawn’s hand and grinned. ‘Yeah, course I can. Ta, girls. I’ll see you around.’

Chrissy slid off the wall and the other two followed. They stood for a while gawping at Eddie as he headed out of the estate and along Mansfield Road. He might have turned around and waved but he didn’t. As soon as he was out of sight, they set off for Haslow House.

‘What are we going to buy with it?’ Dawn asked, twisting the coin between her fingers.

‘Sherbet dips,’ Zelda said, ‘and Black Jacks and Flying Saucers and—’

‘Love Hearts for Chrissy,’ Dawn said, sniggering. ‘She’s got the hots for Eddie.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘You gave him a ten.’

‘So?’ Chrissy had crazy pictures in her mind: she and Eddie strolling down the street, hand in hand; she and Eddie slow dancing in a nightclub; she and Eddie snogging in the moonlight. And okay, so maybe she was a bit younger than him, but she’d be fifteen in a few months’ time, old enough to be taken seriously.

Dawn laughed. ‘You lurve him, you lurve him,’ she said in a singsong voice. ‘Chrissy wants to marry Eddie.’

‘I do not!’

‘So why’s your face gone all red?’

‘Shut up!’

‘Make me.’

Chrissy glared at her. Dawn could be annoying, maddening sometimes, the way she latched on to things and wouldn’t let go. Like one of those yappy little dogs snapping at your ankles. ‘I will!’

‘Go on then.’

Zelda, forever the peacemaker, squeezed between the two of them and said, ‘Let’s just get this message sorted and then we can go to the shop.’

‘She started it,’ Chrissy said.

‘No, I never.’

‘Yes, you did.’

Zelda, sounding like a fed-up parent with two bickering kids, gave a long sigh. ‘For God’s sake, give it a rest.’

Chrissy linked her arm through Zelda’s, a proprietorial gesture. Sometimes she wished it was just the two of them again, the way it had been before Dawn had moved onto the estate last year. Although she felt sorry for the girl, she didn’t really like her. Dawn could be funny but she could be mean too; she knew where to find the weak spots and how to use them to her own advantage. Did Zelda like Dawn more than her? Did Eddie? Her stomach turned over. She dropped what remained of the cigarette and ground it out with her heel. In all honesty she wished Dawn wasn’t around any more.

Haslow House was almost identical to Carlton where the three of them lived. The same high-rise greying concrete, the same tiled foyer, the whole place tatty and strewn with litter. Only the graffiti was different. They went up in one of the juddering lifts, wrinkling their noses at the stink. There was still an atmosphere between Chrissy and Dawn, a simmering tension waiting to explode.

‘I wonder what he meant by stock,’ Zelda said.

‘Dodgy gear,’ Dawn said. ‘Nicked stuff. Fags and booze and the like.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Chrissy said.

Dawn rolled her eyes. ‘What else could it be, stupid?

‘Don’t call me stupid. It could be anything.’

‘Like what?’

Chrissy tried to think of something else but couldn’t. ‘Like anything,’ she repeated.

Dawn gave a snort. ‘Like puppies or kittens, you mean?’

‘Piss off. I didn’t say that.’

The lift ground to a halt and the doors creaked open. The three of them stepped out, checked the flat numbers and started walking towards flat forty-eight.

‘It could be drugs,’ Dawn said. ‘Grass or coke. I bet Eddie’s a dealer. He looks the type.’

‘He’s not a dealer.’

‘How do you know?’

Chrissy didn’t know but refused to believe it. Dawn was just trying to wind her up. Already she was building a picture of Eddie in her head, not exactly a knight in shining armour but someone basically good and decent. That was the sort of bloke she wanted, not the sort who would bring trouble to Nan’s door. And not the sort who would smash her heart into a thousand pieces.

They stopped outside the flat and looked at each other. ‘You do it,’ Chrissy said to Dawn.

‘Why me?’

‘Why not?’

‘You do it.’

Zelda sighed, reached out her hand and pressed the bell. They waited but no one came. Zelda rang again. This time there was movement from inside. They stared at the tiny circular eye in the door, shifting self-consciously from one foot to the other, aware of being studied. Eventually a bolt was slid back and the door was opened. A tall man, hard-looking, unshaven, gazed down at them. He was wearing a grubby vest and had tattoos down both arms.

‘Yeah?’

‘Is Anita in, please?’ Zelda asked.

‘We’ve got a message,’ Chrissy said. ‘From Eddie.’

‘And why couldn’t Eddie deliver it himself?’

The girls, not expecting to be cross-examined, glanced at each other again. ‘He … erm … I think he had something urgent to do,’ Chrissy said.

The man was unimpressed. ‘Lazy fucker. What’s the bleedin’ message then?’

‘It’s for Anita,’ Zelda said.

‘She ain’t here.’

‘How long will she be?’

‘How the fuck would I know? You want to leave a message, leave it. If you don’t, bugger off. Make your minds up. I ain’t standing here all day.’

The three girls were in a quandary. Eddie had paid them to tell Anita, but he hadn’t said what to do if she wasn’t there. They dithered, shuffled, pulled faces. Someone had to make the decision, but no one seemed up for it. Zelda nudged Chrissy’s elbow. ‘Go on. You may as well.’

Chrissy didn’t want to be the one to leave the message. What if Eddie found out and had the hump with her? But she also didn’t want to stay here any longer than she had to. The bloke was getting antsy. She could see the darkness in his eyes, the growing irritation. Never talk to strange men was what her nan had always said when she was a kid. But she was grown up now – well, almost – and those warnings were only faint echoes. Quickly she blurted out, ‘Eddie said the stock’s in. You can take your pick.’

‘Stock’s in, huh?’ He seemed to mellow a little, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’ His gaze roamed over them all and finally came to rest on Dawn. ‘I know you, don’t I?’

Dawn shook her head. ‘Don’t think so.’

‘Yeah, you’re Tina’s sprog. Debbie, ain’t it?’

‘Dawn.’

‘Yeah, Dawn. That’s it. Sorry, love. How’s yer mum these days? Haven’t seen her for a while.’

‘She’s okay.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

Mission accomplished, Zelda started to edge away – ‘Bye then’ – and Chrissy and Dawn followed suit.

They were halfway to the lift when the man called out. ‘Hey, Dawn, come here a minute.’

Dawn hesitated, frowned, but then did as she was told.

Chrissy and Zelda watched as he bent to whisper something in her ear. Dawn nodded, said something in return. The man went inside the flat and closed the door. Dawn sauntered back along the corridor.

‘What was all that about?’ Chrissy asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Nothing. I mean, nothing much. Just to … erm, say hi to my mum.’

Chrissy didn’t believe her. The bloke could have said that when they were all there – or just called it out. He hadn’t needed to summon her back. ‘What else?’

‘Nothing. I told you.’

Chrissy stared at her. ‘Why won’t you tell us?’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘Who is that feller? What’s his name?’

‘Dunno.’

‘He knows who you are.’

‘He knows my mum, that’s all.’

They got in the lift and went down in silence. Chrissy thought about Tina Kearns. Dawn’s mum was well known on the estate, although not in a good way. She drank too much and had bad taste in boyfriends, men who were tight with their cash and quick with their fists. At least that’s what Nan said, and Nan had the lowdown on all the neighbours.

They passed through the coolness of the foyer, through the doors and back into the warmth of the September air. Chrissy was still bothered by what they’d done. ‘What if he doesn’t tell Anita?’

‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Zelda said.

‘He might forget.’

Dawn laughed. ‘Eddie should have done it himself, then, shouldn’t he? It’s not our fault.’

And that was true, Chrissy thought. They’d upheld their side of the deal so far as they’d been able. If the tattooed bloke had a bad memory, it wasn’t down to them. Anyway, if the message was that important, Eddie would have found the time to deliver it personally.

As they headed towards the main gate, Dawn began to dawdle, dragging her feet.

‘Come on,’ Chrissy urged. ‘He closes at half--two.’

Patel’s was the only local shop that opened on a Sunday, but even Mr P. liked to have some of his afternoon off.

Dawn came to a standstill, stopping dead in the middle of the path. ‘I’m going home,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel so good.’

Chrissy stared at her. She didn’t look sick. She didn’t look any different to how she’d looked five minutes ago. ‘What’s wrong? What’s the matter?’

‘Cramps,’ Dawn said, clutching her stomach in an overly dramatic fashion. ‘I’ve got gut ache.’

Zelda put an arm around her, making sympathetic noises. Chrissy wondered what the time was. How long since they’d heard the two chimes from the town hall clock? First, they’d talked to Eddie and then walked over to Haslow to deliver the message. It must be fifteen, twenty minutes at least.

‘We’ll come with you,’ Zelda said. ‘We’ll walk with you to the lifts.’

Chrissy turned her face away and raised her eyes to the heavens. The trouble with Zelda was that she always saw the best in people. Anyone could tell Dawn was faking it.

‘Nah, I’ll be okay.’ Dawn took the fifty pence coin out of her pocket and gave it to Zelda. ‘You go to the shop. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Chrissy gave her a wave, trying to speed up the goodbyes. ‘See you, then.’ The thought had crossed her mind that Dawn might be trying to pull a fast one, to clear off with Eddie’s money, and now she felt bad about it. But she still didn’t reckon Dawn was sick. To make up for her unfounded suspicions, she said, ‘We’ll get you some sweets, keep them till tomorrow.’

‘Ta,’ Dawn said, glancing over her shoulder as she hurried back along the path.

Zelda gazed after her, head inclined, eyes full of concern.

‘She’ll be all right,’ Chrissy said.

‘She never goes home early.’

‘She’ll be all right,’ Chrissy repeated, aware of the seconds ticking away. Although it was rare for Dawn to go home before they did – despite what she pretended she had no set time, her mum being unconcerned about when she left or when she came back – it was hardly something to worry about. ‘Come on, it must be almost half past.’

Zelda didn’t move. She waited until Dawn had gone into Carlton House and disappeared from view. Only then did she start walking with Chrissy towards the gates. From there they went along Mansfield Road and down to the high street. Were they going to make it? Chrissy increased her pace, flip-flops slapping against the pavement. Dawn had lost them a few vital minutes and she prepared herself for disappointment whilst still hoping she could be wrong. Another few yards – she broke into an ungainly jog – and then her worst fears were confirmed. The lights were off. The shop was closed.

Pressing their noses against the glass, they gazed mournfully through the window at the rows of sweets on display. It occurred to Chrissy, somewhat belatedly, that they should have come here before delivering the message. That way they could have safely secured their reward and kept their side of the bargain. As she pondered on this she was reminded of the tattooed man.

‘I didn’t like that feller at the flat. What do you reckon he said to Dawn?’

‘She told you. He said to say hi to her mum.’

Chrissy didn’t want to come right out and call Dawn a liar, even though that was what she thought. ‘Just that?’

‘What else?’

Chrissy shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. What are we going to do now?’

‘Go back, I suppose.’

Chrissy looked around, hoping she might spot Eddie, but there was no sign of him. The high street was Sunday quiet, almost deserted, with nothing in the way of distractions. She tried to think of something fun to do but drew a blank. They walked slowly back to the estate, saying little. For Chrissy, it wasn’t a comfortable silence. Zelda seemed distant, distracted, as though she’d rather be somewhere else … or with someone else.

Eddie Barr was still in two minds as to whether he should jump ship. No sooner had he managed to wheedle his way into the firm last year than Joe Quinn had got his head caved in. A jury had decided that Quinn’s two sons were guilty, but others weren’t so sure. There were some who put Terry Street firmly in the frame, although Eddie reckoned Terry might have started that rumour himself. Anyway, whether he’d done it or not, Terry hadn’t been slow in climbing into the dead man’s shoes. But would it last? It was all very well seizing power, but hanging on to it was another matter altogether.

Already some of the more senior faces had left to form allegiances with other East End firms. Terry was too young to command the respect of the old guard. They weren’t prepared to take orders from a bloke who hadn’t even been born when they were helping Joe Quinn build his empire. Others had stayed, though – men like Vinnie Keane and John Haley. A turf war was looming – Kellston was up for grabs – and Eddie didn’t want to end up on the wrong side.

Eddie sipped his pint while he considered his options. He was sitting in a dingy basement bar, a shebeen in King’s Cross run by some dodgy Jamaicans. Reggae music pounded his ears. The only place to drink on a Sunday afternoon was in illegal joints like this one or in the comfort of your own home. He would have stuck with home if he hadn’t had some business around the corner.

Eddie didn’t like Jamaicans, didn’t like coloured people full stop. He didn’t like Chinks either, or Paddies or Yanks or spics come to that. Catholics, Jews and any mug who came from south of the river were also on his blacklist. On the whole, he wasn’t crazy over anyone who didn’t look or think like himself, and that included women. Girls, however, were a different kettle of fish. Girls were his living, his bread and butter. He knew how to charm and entice, how to make them trust.

Eddie thought about the trio sitting on the wall at the Mansfield, and grinned. He could have had any of them if he’d put his mind it, but especially the blonde. Chrissy, that was her name.

He’d seen the way she’d looked at him, her grey eyes wide as saucers, her heart full of yearning and soppy romantic notions. They were all obsessed with love at that age, with boyfriends and soulmates and happy-ever-afters. Yeah, he could have clicked his fingers and she’d have come running, but he knew better than to go down that road. Never shit on your own doorstep, right? It wasn’t smart and always came back to bite you on the arse.

He glanced at his watch. The next trains in were from Manchester and Nottingham. He’d give it five minutes, time for the passengers to clear, before he went and examined the debris. The runaways were always easy to spot, aimless and bewildered, not sure what to do next now they’d finally reached their destination. He’d choose carefully, get chatting, buy the target a coffee and show her the kind of interest nobody else had ever bothered to do. Listening, that was the key – or at least pretending to. He’d heard all the stories a hundred times before.

When he was on the hunt, he had to keep his eyes open, check that the law weren’t on the prowl, or any of those dogooding social workers. He stayed away from the girls who were too young, although it wasn’t always easy to tell. They lied about their age, their names, lied about most things. The biggest lie of all, of course, was the one they told themselves – that life would be perfect once they got away from home.

Eddie’s two houses, the biggest on Albert Road, were doing well, but if another firm took over the manor all that could change. At the moment he had an arrangement with Terry, weekly payments so he didn’t get any hassle, protection if he needed it. He resented paying but that was the way it was. If he wasn’t forking out to Terry, it would be to someone else. Unless that someone decided they didn’t want him on their patch any more.

The girls he picked up, the newcomers, didn’t go straight to work. What he liked to think of as the introductory period was spent in one of his bedsits, where he’d begin to forge a relationship: feeding them, clothing them, taking them out and buying them gifts. There was partying. There was alcohol, weed and coke. It didn’t take long for an attachment to be formed, for them to start to rely on him – and on the gear. Before they knew it, they were hooked and there was no going back.

It was Anita who ran the houses for him. Every establishment needed a madam and she was the best, keeping the customers in line, and the toms. She was the one who decided where to put the new girls once Eddie had prepared them. He didn’t feel any guilt over what he did. It was every man for himself in this world, dog eat dog. He had a living to make and he had ambition. This was just the start. Kellston was all very well, but the real money was to be made in the West End. It was there, among the clubs and bars and escort agencies, that the future lay. He wanted punters with deep pockets, men who were prepared to pay top dollar for the privilege of screwing his girls.

He scratched his chin, drank a little beer, thought a bit more about Terry Street. Was the guy tough enough to survive what was coming? Was he smart enough, devious enough, vicious enough? His enemies were already closing in, testing, pushing the boundaries, looking for the weak spots. Others were circling round like vultures, waiting to pick the bones clean once he was toppled. If Eddie made a mistake and backed the wrong side, all his hard work would be for nothing.

He was torn. Better the devil you know, a voice whispered in his ear. Except he didn’t really know Terry Street, wasn’t exactly sure of his capabilities. And okay, Terry hadn’t done badly so far, but it was still early days. Until he was challenged, there was no saying which way it would go. Even smart geezers ended up with bullets in their brains.

Eddie drained his glass, lit a fag and stood up. There was no need to make an immediate decision. He could think about it some more, weigh up his options, try and suss out which way the wind was blowing. In the meantime, he had work to do. He checked out the mirror as he walked towards the door, ran his fingers through his hair and admired his reflection.

Dawn didn’t show up on Monday or Tuesday morning. On Wednesday Chrissy and Zelda waited at their usual meeting point by the gates to the estate until the last possible minute. Then, not wanting to be late, they set off for school.

‘She must still be sick,’ Zelda said. ‘Do you think?’

Chrissy, who was secretly pleased to have Zelda to herself, nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess.’ She suspected Dawn was just bunking off, something she did these days with ever increasing frequency. ‘She might be.’

‘Should we go round and see her later?’

Chrissy grimaced. The last time they’d done that, Tina Kearns’s feller had answered the door and given them a mouthful, told them to fuck off and not come back. Dawn said that Marlon worked nights and got the hump if he was woken up during the day. She had made them promise not to knock on the door again. ‘What about that bloke? Is he still living there?’

‘I dunno. I think so.’

Chrissy thought of the bruises on Dawn’s arms. If they went to the flat and disturbed him, he might take it out on her. ‘What if … you know, he gets mad again, has a go at Dawn after we’ve gone?’

‘So what are we going to do?’

Chrissy reckoned Dawn would show up soon enough, probably tomorrow, but she wanted to please Zelda so she said, ‘We could go round after dinner. He should be up by then, shouldn’t he?’

Zelda nodded. ‘Okay, let’s do that.’

The school day passed slowly as it always did. Chrissy spent most of it gazing out of the window, daydreaming, or watching the second hand on the clock move lethargically round the face. She longed to escape from the classroom, away from equations and questions that she couldn’t answer. The sun slanted across the playground, golden yellow, an invitation to go out and feel the warmth. The four walls closed in. The teachers’ words slid over her, barely heard, unabsorbed. She envied Dawn her freedom