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  Bree began to scramble up but the mud was too wet and she found herself slipping. She turned to see Ma closing in on her, a maniacal look on her face, eyes wild and frenzied.

  She screamed as she felt Ma grab her hair before she was flung backwards and dragged through the bushes. Her head felt like it was on fire, then a crippling pain exploded. Unbearable. Ripping through Bree’s eye as a small branch caught and tore into her lid. She could taste the blood trickling down her cheek and into her mouth as Ma continued to drag her along.

  Out from under the trees, the moon high in the night sky, Ma stared at Bree, a nasty smile on her face. Then Ma’s fist came smashing down as her heavy body straddled Bree, banging her head against the ground.

  ‘You leave my son alone! You ain’t taking him from me. He’s mine!’

  Her mouth full of blood, Bree gave a breathless, staggered reply. ‘I love him though! I love him!’

  Ma let out a piercing, deafening scream. ‘You can’t love him, he ain’t yours to love! So, you shut your dirty mouth, you just shut your dirty mouth!’

  Pushing herself upright, Ma raised her foot, ready to bring it down on Bree’s mouth.

  ‘Stop, Ma! Don’t!’

  Ma turned to look at Johnny. ‘I won’t let her, Johnny. I won’t let her take anyone away from me.’

  Johnny walked up to Ma, he spoke gently. ‘Don’t do it, Ma. Don’t hurt her. Bree ain’t done nothin’. She ain’t going to take no one away, is she?’

  Ma looked down at Bree who was curled up in a ball. ‘Ain’t she?’

  ‘No, she ain’t … because nobody ever leaves Ma.’

  14

  ‘How the fuck can you lose a lorry full of horses? Who does that?’ Eddie Styler raged, filling Johnny’s overheated Range Rover with his seething, uncontrollable anger as they sat overlooking the deserted beach at Sandy Point, Holland Haven. He was visibly shaking and he hadn’t slept one wink because every time he’d tried to close his eyes, Jason Robinson’s face flashed through his mind, though it certainly hadn’t helped that Sandra had insisted on grilling him like she was part of the secret police.

  He hadn’t eaten either, partly due to the pain in his mouth which he’d sustained from the beating, but mainly because he felt sick. Sick at the idea that if he didn’t find the money to pay off the people he owed, he was a walking dead man. And not for the first time, he cursed the memory of Reginald Reynolds for leaving him with nothing after all his loyalty.

  Ma sat at the back, her voice cold, a hint of amusement in it. ‘Eddie, you look terrible mate, are you sure you’re okay? You look like you need to see a quack.’

  Hysteria coursed through Eddie. He screamed out his words as he bashed his fist on the dash over and over, in time with his words.

  ‘And … Why … Am … I … Not … Okay … Cos … Of … You … Two … Fucks.’

  Ma Dwyer leant forward from the back, putting her hand on Eddie’s shoulder. ‘You better calm down before you do yourself a mischief. Not only that, but you better be careful how you talk to us.’

  Scrambling in his pocket, Eddie pulled out a small gun, his hand trembling as he attempted to point it at Johnny and Ma. His face going purple with fury. ‘Have you forgotten who I am? Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?’

  Ma looked at him evenly, a small smile pulling at her lips. ‘Oh no, Eddie, I know exactly who I’m talking to, but right now I just don’t care.’

  The gun shook in his hand as he spoke. ‘You think this is a joke? Do you realise what you’ve done to me? Do you know what I had riding on this? You need to find my fucking lorry, cos when they come looking for me, I’ll be sending them right to your door, Ma.’

  ‘You ain’t doing yourself any favours, so just put the gun down, Eddie.’

  ‘And why should I do that? You turned me right over. Tell me Ma, were you in on it?’

  She laughed nastily. ‘In on what?’

  Exploding again and slurring his words from the copious amounts of whiskey he’d consumed, Eddie looked on the verge of tears. ‘On taking everything I had left in the world!’

  With ease, Ma flicked the gun out of Eddie’s hand. ‘And that’s the big problem, ain’t it Eddie? You see I’ve been speaking to a couple of Reginald Reynolds’ men, and they told me none of them are working for you anymore. Not only that, but they told me how much you liked to run up debts in Reggie’s name. But now the fella’s brown bread, you are out on your own and people want their money, and you ain’t got it, have you? Which means you ain’t got our money either. We want our money, Eddie.’

  Eddie went into his pocket, pulling out a flick knife. ‘What? Are you trying to mug me off? Your men lost me fucking lorry, so I ain’t paying you nothing.’

  Johnny sneered at him. ‘That’s not how it works, and you know it. We still did the job. My men still brought the lorry across the Channel. There were still risks for us. We never did anything wrong on our end, and even before this happened, you were never straight with us.’

  ‘What am I, a fucking spirit level? I told you what you needed to know.’

  Ma leant over the car seat again to squeeze Eddie’s shoulder, slightly too hard for his liking. ‘No, Eddie, you didn’t. You never told us you didn’t have any money. But now we’re telling you what you need to know. If we don’t get our money, Johnny here won’t be held responsible for his actions. Seventy-two hours Edward, and after that, those seagulls need to be fed.’

  ‘Alfie, you need to come and look at this.’

  Alfie threw down the mucking out fork. ‘Janine, whatever it is you’ve got to say, got to show me or bleedin’ got to moan about, I don’t want to know. We have been shovelling shit for the past few hours, and we have not found one bag of coke, yet who knew that a dozen or so horses could shit so much, so to say I ain’t in the mood, is to put it fucking lightly.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means, suit yourself.’

  Furious, Alfie spun round to look at her, the usually perfectly coiffed hair flopping over her face in a sweaty, hot mess.

  ‘Fine, go on then. You win, Janine. Spit it out, tell me exactly what it is you have to say.’

  Janine Jennings hid the biggest smile. ‘I think you might like it.’

  Alfie let out a roar. ‘Just tell me!’

  ‘See it for yourself.’ Janine held up a small, clear plastic grip bag covered in steaming manure.

  Alfie grinned. ‘You found the coke.’

  ‘No Alf, I ain’t. I found the diamonds.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about woman?’

  ‘Diamonds, Alfred. Lots and lots of shiny diamonds.’

  Lola and Janine sat at the table opposite Vaughn and Alfie in the lavishly gold decorated dining room of Janine’s house. In the middle of the table sat several empty Chinese takeaway cartons along with a pile of small yet perfectly cut diamonds.

  ‘Do you think he knows?’

  Drawing his eyes away from the table, Alfie glanced at Vaughn. ‘You mean Lloyd?’

  ‘Yeah. Do you reckon he knew it wasn’t coke, and just thought it was best to keep schtum?’

  Picking out the last piece of chow mein from the side of one of the foil cartons, Alfie raised his eyebrows. ‘But why? He only offered us the gig because he had to and let’s face it, we would’ve taken anything.’

  ‘Maybe, but he didn’t know that.’

  ‘Come off it Vaughnie, we were desperate. He smelled it the minute I went to see him. I nearly begged the geezer. Nearly.’

  ‘So why not just be upfront with us?’

  Alfie, still hungry, leaned across to Janine’s plate to pinch one of her pork balls. Managing to come away with only a hard slap to his hand, he pulled a face. ‘Cos there’s a big difference in jacking a lorry of coke and jacking a lorry of diamonds. Perhaps when I came along he was already looking for a couple of mugs who’d be willing to take the risk, but at the same time someone who’d do the jo
b properly. And hey presto, we come along and don’t we just fit the bill.’

  Vaughn nodded slowly as he thought about Lloyd. The geezer might be a prick, but he was a shrewd one. Nobody with any sense would agree to jack a lorry of diamonds on their own turf, it just wasn’t worth it, and Lloyd had known that, but as Alf had said, they’d been desperate and hadn’t bothered asking too many questions. They’d been slack. Too eager to get the money for Reenie Reynolds. To Lloyd it must’ve looked like they were a pair of puppy dogs begging for a fucking walk.

  ‘Get him on the phone, now! Tell him we want him to come around for a little chat. Let’s see what he has to say.’

  Alfie looked at Vaughn dubiously. ‘You sure about this?’

  ‘No, Alf, I’m not, but what I am sure about is that nobody takes me for a mug.’

  15

  ‘So what are you telling me?’ Lloyd Page stood with his henchmen in the well-manicured garden of Janine’s mansion as Alf sat next to Vaughn on the chocolate rattan garden chair.

  ‘Why don’t you just come and sit down.’

  ‘No ta, Alf. I prefer to stand. Make you nervous, does it?’

  Alfie gave a cold laugh. ‘Why would it? I was just being polite to me elders, age catches up on us all, thought you’d fancy a pew. You know, rest yer bones.’

  With his broad Yorkshire accent dangerously icy, Lloyd held Alfie’s stare. ‘I’ll wait till I’m dead and buried for that. Like to keep on me toes personally, Alf. Never know when you might have to do a runner … Anyhows, as nice as this chat is, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we? I’m still in the dark here. Why the urgent phone call?’

  Vaughn glanced at Alfie. Even though they had the threat of the Peterson brothers to hang over Lloyd’s head, he would’ve felt so much better if Lloyd hadn’t brought his goons. But they’d come up against worse. Much worse. And like Alf had said, when they put their minds to it, they were still a force to be reckoned with.

  Alfie was still on a buzz from jacking the lorry, he got that, but what he didn’t get was how he could be so calm about Franny. Even the name wound him up. He could feel the anger towards her running around his body. The woman had turned them over and the truth was, although he was pissed with Alfie, he hadn’t seen it coming either.

  He’d known Franny and her father, Patrick Doyle, for many years, and he would’ve put his last pound on the fact that she wouldn’t have ripped him off. Problem was she took his last pound anyway. And it was like a razor blade slicing at his skin. She’d fucked it up big time for them, and they needed to salvage the situation before it was too late.

  ‘Christ!’ All eyes turned to look at Vaughn, who had without thinking, slammed down his fist on the table, knocking over the milky tea Lola had made him earlier, sending it flying.

  Lloyd scanned him darkly. ‘Problem?’

  ‘No, mate. Just a pesky insect.’

  ‘You often do that?’

  Vaughn glanced around, seeing the broken teacup on the floor. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What can I say? I hate flies.’

  Silence fell and the only noise was the distant hum of the cars on the bypass.

  Lloyd pushed again. ‘So, come on then? What have you got for me?’

  Vaughn, directing his anger at him, snapped, ‘That’s the fucking thing. We ain’t got anything for you. There wasn’t anything in the truck.’

  Lloyd twisted round to look at his men, then opened his arms wide to stare at Alfie before crouching down to Vaughn’s eye level and very carefully said, ‘You better be fucking kidding me. I might’ve given you a squeeze by letting you have that job, but I was still going to get my cut, so don’t think you can treat me like a mug.’

  Smelling the cologne Lloyd was wearing, Vaughn curled up his nose. ‘Thing is Lloyd, I’m not, and unless this was your idea of a sick joke, I want to know why, when we put our necks on the line, you didn’t check your source properly that his information was correct. You should’ve known the only thing those horses were filled with was shit. Have you any idea how many pieces of fucking crap we went through?’

  Lloyd’s eyes darted everywhere. Agitated, he wagged his finger. ‘No, this can’t be right. You’re telling me you found nothing?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Kicking one of the rattan chairs over, Lloyd raised his voice. ‘That’s bullshit!’

  ‘No Lloyd, horseshit. Lots and lots of horseshit and not much else.’

  Panting, Lloyd eyeballed Vaughn and Alfie. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘What don’t you believe?’

  Lloyd bellowed, his voice becoming an octave higher as he screamed, red-faced at Vaughn. ‘That the tooth fairy is real … What the fuck do you think I mean?’

  Evenly, Vaughn said, ‘Just checking.’

  Lloyd took a swing at Vaughn before diving on him, tipping him backwards on the chair. Both men went down, but it was Vaughn who scrambled up first, wiping the blood off his face.

  He raged at Lloyd. ‘I’m telling you the truth! There was no coke! It’s screwed us up as well. We were banking on being able to knock that out and get some money behind us. It ain’t just you who’s agged about it. Think how we feel. You ain’t really lost nothin’, but we have got a lot riding on it.’

  Lloyd listened. Watched. And then slowly said, ‘You’re being straight up, aren’t you?’

  With his hands resting on his knees, and bending forward, Vaughn turned his head to look at Lloyd. ‘Too right I am.’

  ‘And what about the horses?’

  ‘As arranged, dumped off at the sanctuary.’

  ‘And you checked properly? The sanctuary won’t suddenly find themselves knee-deep in bags of nose candy?’

  ‘I swear on all that is precious Lloyd, there wasn’t any coke.’

  Alfie cut in. ‘But maybe you knew that Lloyd, maybe you thought the lorry was transporting something else.’

  As Lloyd stared at Alfie, Vaughn studied him closely, watching the genuine look of curiosity spread across his face. ‘Like what, Alf?’

  Alfie shrugged. ‘You tell us.’

  Bewilderment furrowed Lloyd’s forehead. ‘What the fuck are you on about?’

  Vaughn glanced at Alfie, but spoke to Lloyd. ‘Nothing, mate. We’re all a bit pissed off, but I guess we’ll just have to put this one down as the one that got away.’

  16

  Wednesday turned into Thursday and Bree Dwyer found herself hurriedly pushing the trolley round the small supermarket in Saffron Walden. She was trying to push the unease away, trying to forget what she saw in Kieran’s bag, whilst praying that the tribute band recording of Cliff Richard’s greatest hits – which was on a loop and being played throughout the store – would stop.

  She checked her watch. The fourth time in less than five minutes. If she didn’t get a move on the shopping list would go out the window, and she’d have to abandon the packets of crisps, burgers and iced gems, like she so often did.

  Time was always her enemy. An hour and a half. That’s all she had. All Johnny had given her. His present to her. Her time limit. To drive, to park, to get everything she needed, but every breath, every turn, robbed her of time.

  Inanimate objects stealing those precious seconds: her purse to find the change for the carpark meter; her trainer lace needing to be tied. But she’d learnt the hard way. Over time. Throughout many beatings. She’d learnt that preparation was the key.

  And so everything she did was calculated to the minute with military precision. Before she set off the money was already sorted in the glove compartment. The trainers replaced with slip-on shoes. It didn’t matter if there were roadworks or traffic, because it was her job to get back. Because that was the only way. Fail to prepare, prepare to … well, she didn’t like to think of it, to think about one of Johnny’s lessons he liked to teach her.

  She sighed, the grimness of the place exacerbating the sense of emptiness she felt. The half-stacked shelves. The empty aisles save an intoxicated old man. The bargain bin
s of processed own-brand tins. It wasn’t her choice to come here, she would’ve rather gone to the new shopping centre further down the road, but that was at least another fifteen minutes. And that wasn’t even an option.

  Oh God, how she longed to run. To throw down the spaghetti hoops and run to the car. To keep on driving. Past the petrol station, past the lay-by, past the roundabout and just keep on going. But she knew. Johnny knew. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not on her own. Not now. Not ever. So however tempting it was to get back in the car and never look back, she always did. She always looked back and she always returned home.

  Bree glanced down at her watch again. It was getting late. She was annoyed with herself. Thinking had slowed her down, and now the line at the checkout had three people in it.

  Deciding to leave the washing-up liquid, which was over in the next aisle, Bree rushed over to the till, behind the drunken man, behind a pregnant woman whose basket was filled with discount vodka and Cherryade.

  Watching as the checkout man – Steve, according to his name badge – chewed and blew bubbles whilst trying but failing to get a packet of porridge oats to scan, Bree pushed down the sense of panic.

  Indifferent to the rising impatience of the queuing customers, Steve excruciatingly slowly picked up a grey phone which was partly hidden under the five-pence bags. He spoke into it. His voice crackling over the store’s speakers cut into a Grazioso version of ‘The Young Ones’. ‘Anyone got a price for this?’

  Lacking any sign of enthusiasm, Steve waved the porridge oats in the air, resting his arm in his other hand as he did so.

  A woman with thinning grey hair, wearing a nylon blue-checked tabard, shuffled towards the till. Speaking with a lisp owing to missing her top teeth, she sniffed, asking, ‘Price for what?’

  ‘These.’

  She nodded, taking the packets of oats, and shuffled away as slowly as Steve had picked up the phone.

  Bree, seeing that this could take some time, spoke warmly. ‘Hi, I’m in a rush and I’m just wondering if there was someone else here who could go on the other till.’