Читать онлайн книгу «Toxic: The addictive new crime thriller from the best selling author that will have you gripped in 2018» автора Jacqui Rose
Toxic: The addictive new crime thriller from the best selling author that will have you gripped in 2018
Jacqui Rose
Sometimes love is toxic…Bree Dwyer is desperate to escape her husband, take the children and run. But he’s always watching. And she always gets caught. Until her first love, Alfie Jennings, returns to Essex…Gangsters Alfie and Vaughn have been out of the game for a while, but a life of crime is one you never forget.To get back on top they need serious money, because loyalty and power don’t come for free. One dangerous job and they’ll have the payoff they need. And Alfie isn’t going to let anyone get in the way, least of all a pretty face like Bree.It’s time to show Essex what they’re made of. And this time, Alfie and Vaughn aren’t backing down.Praise for Toxic‘Jacqui Rose is back and with an exciting, nailbiting book. Welcome back Jacqui.’ Netgalley Reviewer‘This book needs to come with a warning: addictive and can not put down’ Netgalley Reviewer‘A gripping thriller!! I loved it… I highly recommend this One!!’ Netgalley Reviewer‘Toxic is fast-paced and thrilling with the right amount of tension and suspense, so I was kept turning the pages keen to find out how things would finish. Well done to Jacqui, I can't wait to read more!’ Netgalley Reviewer‘The story is fast paced and full of tension with plenty of twists which has an open ending ready for the next instalment.’ Netgalley Reviewer
Copyright (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2018
Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2018
Cover design © Alison Groom 2018
Cover photograph © Irina Bg / Shutterstock
Cover photograph © Lawrence Garwood / Alamy
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 e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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: 9780008287283
Ebook Edition © Jun 2018 ISBN: 9780008287290
Version: 2018-06-21
Dedication (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
To AP and Boo – my joy, my heart, my soul’s desire, my keepers of my peace, my freedom givers, my wingless journeymen – it’s only a shame horses can’t read.
The Devil asked me how I knew my way around the halls of hell. I told him I did not need a map for the darkness I know so well.
Table of Contents
Cover (#uda8e768e-2870-5c70-b98f-c9fcaa626392)
Title Page (#ubd5005e6-fe61-5070-8e88-d45c949a6f4c)
Copyright (#u5bab1cff-6d2a-5039-8ec4-71375f9507a7)
Dedication (#u75d81b37-646d-560a-81b6-27f730100a85)
Epigraph (#u3e792c07-754d-548f-b001-3f426a3812e4)
Before (#ub9986daf-0041-5c77-a452-d1d2d1bd2bb1)
Yesterday (#uc61b4232-5223-5708-9a0f-7e462cbf608c)
Today (#u9c9b19a1-4e96-5af5-bc74-56fe03fba0bc)
Chapter 2 (#ud6b7cd83-0b3f-5845-b593-63941a03d060)
Chapter 3 (#ueb7b8d80-9e2a-5226-8d7c-fe75264a49e2)
Chapter 4 (#u056d9b41-862e-501d-bc28-93716817484d)
Chapter 5 (#u4fd2254b-76fb-5e9f-9389-fb6cde910b63)
Chapter 6 (#u4b0bcbc3-de54-5fb2-b869-741b7b2cbf0a)
Chapter 7 (#u8456bf3a-28e8-598a-8667-d9b7dc093e91)
Chapter 8 (#u78ee8a02-b52d-5324-854a-d2be4139c73d)
Chapter 9 (#uaab0f1b0-308c-5bd7-9aa3-963cf87d113c)
Chapter 10 (#ub0dd989c-eea6-5876-8870-02f5488cfc3c)
Chapter 11 (#u195bedd3-c536-5290-b576-70e8116a4ddc)
Chapter 12 (#u4fdd49e2-9728-5314-88ae-a353e0929aac)
Chapter 13 (#u315ac6da-de53-5788-9df3-4349e4a49ea9)
Chapter 14 (#u987d3d91-e9d1-5614-863d-e1116d5eee71)
Chapter 15 (#ua96e6452-5987-5b27-8e5d-79b02a8443aa)
Chapter 16 (#u7cdda34b-8d73-5573-b16a-7940830871c6)
Chapter 17 (#uecbddfd9-4e34-58d4-b8f2-ef53ab56f8aa)
Chapter 18 (#uf7ffc5e2-2c58-5cab-9c2e-042749e42570)
Chapter 19 (#uf9890896-5d23-54c3-b532-64ee8fd0fd90)
Chapter 20 (#uf6237a68-74d2-51be-9baa-8e1c905242ca)
Chapter 21 (#u56f59d8b-6db2-51bc-acb0-4e139ca5a4f7)
Chapter 22 (#ua4e41af2-4b17-5c1b-a11d-3ee552a9839c)
Chapter 23 (#u64e7ac53-2d76-500a-8ffc-d5545aae010d)
Chapter 24 (#u7cb85325-d187-5842-bf3d-a905b1ba783b)
Chapter 25 (#u375cad4c-1359-5e0a-abcd-32d7b74031fc)
Chapter 26 (#u2c0c6481-1042-577b-9978-135c063146b0)
Chapter 27 (#u618c771c-4e0e-5776-9a33-2c070eb1aa7e)
Chapter 28 (#u0dc36584-b193-500c-b4d1-8f70ae2bb3f1)
Chapter 29 (#u8c7f4152-1b50-5f0b-86a1-5fd4e24d1fb6)
Chapter 30 (#u5942e2a6-e2bf-591b-a122-41e17d4ba9ef)
Chapter 31 (#u9c853a79-8497-5d65-90b2-28be571a25c6)
Chapter 32 (#u94abe9a8-e094-5dfb-adc4-8d8632416683)
Chapter 33 (#u2aa246f7-264e-5b9d-b99f-00f55428fc7f)
Chapter 34 (#u266e18c8-f4e1-5a50-864b-dee66082fee5)
Chapter 35 (#u0a25b5fe-3048-597d-b6e4-a4a35461a02e)
Chapter 36 (#ub60fa50b-9143-5473-9bb7-abdba5f8c416)
Chapter 37 (#u6b8dc892-ab54-5124-8574-be09115d6829)
Chapter 38 (#u036fc79a-90ac-5aa4-ae0b-cc499702f369)
Chapter 39 (#u825d918d-e14f-55fa-8039-391b7513a5e7)
Chapter 40 (#u68b35a07-c53e-5c63-8456-129cb7aeed46)
Chapter 41 (#ue776bd42-7dfd-5b19-bbe4-bcd4a644684e)
Chapter 42 (#u0519e9bf-d1e8-50b0-8837-8ce66f3a3a06)
Chapter 43 (#u99c73806-1a6e-575b-95e8-e2ec4682041e)
Chapter 44 (#uf24a4e70-eb76-5bbb-9005-0894cb715fed)
Chapter 45 (#u4e73fc42-df96-559a-afdb-6c23e0a6746c)
Chapter 46 (#u3823954e-6db1-5c47-b622-6a3dd8452117)
Chapter 47 (#u54284e69-f73e-53fa-87d3-40ebf1ca572a)
Chapter 48 (#u253bd42f-daa4-5a6f-8ad2-f91a7ee49c2a)
Chapter 49 (#ue06c9e4b-d633-5ce4-a65b-9bdc24634e01)
Chapter 50 (#u8df3502d-c887-5251-a477-958f967193bf)
Chapter 51 (#u61e039e2-dfec-59c0-8917-2ae4c7656e03)
Chapter 52 (#u2849bdb0-fc31-5aa0-ab97-083f854d944b)
Chapter 53 (#u2dd181d7-033d-5f21-8404-74f068e25d6d)
Chapter 54 (#u50e706ec-0159-517c-bea5-b2552374cef6)
Chapter 55 (#u03350774-07a1-56bd-84db-7573e41b7618)
Chapter 56 (#u505df141-436e-5582-bf28-f9eed5120f58)
Chapter 57 (#u4fb4990f-5601-553c-ad9a-4f723495b3c6)
Chapter 58 (#u367fddfe-89d9-5e02-94d0-07b7ed87db1f)
Chapter 59 (#ua6dee4af-3872-50f0-8406-2127f6d025fc)
Chapter 60 (#u1c41a613-aab0-5dd9-929f-6cc49579ec84)
Chapter 61 (#u8ad77711-1002-5695-bbd0-e9483eda884e)
Chapter 62 (#u55e33e76-ebac-54d8-ab79-1bf7937f7f9d)
Chapter 63 (#u42ed5627-245f-5c49-ba62-112d7c13fceb)
Chapter 64 (#uc6032f70-a146-5041-941b-59370f89de30)
Chapter 65 (#u93fee10d-0ef4-5b40-9bcd-34bde1db12a3)
Chapter 66 (#u98ad0e72-e55f-5692-a924-caf79e090b3a)
Chapter 67 (#u62a343e9-ee94-5a11-a235-eb27242215ae)
Chapter 68 (#u7b238f94-f345-5d1a-b99c-f061947408ad)
Chapter 69 (#u0545d079-faae-53a8-a431-85822ea0eaea)
Chapter 70 (#u8d14dcbc-3904-5c91-a346-6f9b2f577161)
Chapter 71 (#u8739dc13-fd91-5b10-ab0d-c5d11e1498d3)
Chapter 72 (#u844bfebf-9562-566d-8ac1-07854546e41b)
Chapter 73 (#u3eda0030-b8c4-5647-8c7c-06167022676f)
Chapter 74 (#ue0cd287c-1325-5513-bac7-90b930fefb60)
Chapter 75 (#u7609f046-a84c-5e46-8b15-c0941100bd81)
Chapter 76 (#u9710edc8-c79c-524e-b145-507dcbf40faa)
Two Months Later (#ueeb5d3f3-c15f-51e8-b315-f856b71b48a6)
Acknowledgements (#u8e1e59bb-b8be-556b-9560-8c09b61dddc3)
If You Loved Toxic, Turn the Page for a Sneak Peek From Jacqui’s Thrilling New Book Fatal Coming Soon … (#uc355df82-939f-5960-9d0d-85a64c4790fd)
Keep reading … (#ue2fb9c90-f789-54c3-9e6a-0d3c009b7fa5)
About the Author (#ucf4e6861-a94f-512d-bab5-f25775180bda)
Also by Jacqui Rose (#uc3456715-31c9-5b77-87c8-9958daf15af3)
About the Publisher (#uf12a28c7-f678-5834-b172-06255ceb667e)
BEFORE (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
She could hear them now. They weren’t far behind. Closing in and coming ever nearer, calling their names. She could almost feel their breath on her neck, their cloying touch on her skin, pulling her back. They needed to move but above the sound of the rain she could hear the barking dogs, louder and louder. They didn’t have long. She knew that. She could feel the bloodtrickling down her legs and panic beginning to rise as the dark set in. And the pain, the pain was getting worse. She couldn’t breathe. It was holding her. Slowing her down, making her not want to move, but she had to push through. They had to keep going. They couldn’t rest, not until they were safe. Shhh, they had to be quiet. They had to be still … The dogs, there they were again. Nearer … Nearer … But oh God, the pain. She didn’t know how long she could bare it … Maybe if they just stayed here. Maybe they’d be okay, but she was so cold, and the bleeding was getting heavier … Oh Christ, the blood. The dogs would smell the blood if she didn’t cover it up.
Then, crawling out into the moonlight as the rain poured down, she saw them, they were coming. It was too late, they were coming …
YESTERDAY (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
ESSEX
In a remote scrap yard, four miles outside Saffron Waldon, Johnny Dwyer bent over the perfectly cut up lines of coke. He paused, almost in reverence, looking appreciatively at the white powder before eagerly pushing the fifty-pound note up into his nostril, hungrily sampling the new batch of cocaine he’d just shipped in.
He felt the burn at the back of his nose followed by the tingling sensation in his throat. This was the best part. The first rush which he’d spend the rest of the night trying to chase.‘Can I move now, Johnny? I’ve got cramp in me bleedin’ foot.’
Johnny stared down at the brass in disgust. Whores, they were all the same. Moaning and doing his head in. Jesus, if he’d wanted that, he would’ve stayed at home. He didn’t know why he’d even bothered and now, now he was regretting it big time.
‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the fuck up and keep still.’ He bent down again, snorting another line off the hooker’s stomach whilst trying, then quickly giving up on remembering her name.
‘I ain’t going to lie here any longer, I’ve got to go to the bog. I’ll bleedin’ piss meself otherwise.’
Whining and pulling a face she began to wriggle, spilling the coke down the side of her scrawny tattooed hip.
Johnny gnawed down on his lip. That was it. The final straw. Not only did this silly cow think it was okay to waste some decent blow, but she was now beginning to spoil his high.
Leaping towards her and pushing his hands down hard against her throat, Johnny’s eyes bulged with rage.
‘And I ain’t going to pay for some bleedin’ crackhead like you to have a piss in my bathroom, so if you wanna …’
‘Boss?’
The door to the portacabin was flung open. Johnny scowled. ‘Fuck me, what happened to knocking? Give a man a chance to put his cock away.’
Big Billy Baldwin, who stood no taller than five feet, grinned at Johnny. ‘Sorry boss, but he’s here. Ma told me to bring him straight to you. She said you’d know what to do. She also said “enjoy!”’
Tucking his penis back in his trousers, Johnny wiped his nose and nodded. ‘Fine, bring him in … oh, and get her out of here.’
Happy to oblige, Billy stepped forward, grabbing hold and dragging the naked woman off the table.
‘That hurt! Get off me! Oi! Who d’ya think yer manhandling? And what about me bleedin’ money? I need me clothes! I’ve a mind to—’
The cabin door shut, muting the rest of her words.
Straightening himself up, Johnny rubbed his chin, feeling the coarse dark stubble, a throwback to his Romany genes. Sighing, he swept back his black hair as he leant forward on his chair, moodily spinning round the well-used cosh which sat in front of him on the desk.
He hadn’t had the best of days; he’d heard a few things through the Essex grapevine which hadn’t made him very happy. In fact, they’d positively pissed him off.
Ma had told him his wife, Bree, was acting suspiciously again, no doubt planning, thinking about leaving him as she so often did. But of course, that was just never going to happen. No one left him … ever. And if the stupid mare dared or thought she could just get up and go with the kids, then she really was braver than most men he knew.
But he’d sort it. He always did when she decided to step out of line. Though it always surprised him that she still hadn’t learnt the lesson by now; she was his, and she was going nowhere. Yet even with all he’d taught her, every few months she’d get a bee in her bonnet about how she was going to leave, and every few months Ma would tell him about it. And then, well, he just sorted it the best way he knew how.
Rolling a spliff, Johnny thought about the other piece of information he’d heard today. The information which Ron the runt – who was not only one of the biggest grasses between Essex and John o’ Groats, but also one of the biggest liars – had delighted in telling him.
‘It’s true Johnny, I swear it is. I swear. I wouldn’t lie to you. I was told by one of me sources.’
Johnny had stared at him in disbelief, but even when Billy – who’d been branding one of the horses at the time – had held a red-hot, glowing horseshoe inches away from Ron’s face, the runt had sworn that his information was true. That now Reginald Reynolds, the kingpin of Essex, was dead, Vaughn Sadler and Alfie Jennings, two legendary faces of Soho, had decided to come back home. Home to Essex to set up shop and take the crown.
And if Ron was right? Well bollocks to that. There was simply no way he was about to let that happen. No bleedin’ way at all.
On top of all that, he was now going to have to deal with Shane, one of his employees who thought it was okay to do a moonlight fucking flit and go and work somewhere else. So, before he could relax, and get on with the rest of his night, he was going to have to teach Shane a lesson. Then hopefully, things could finally get back to normal.
The door opened.
‘Hello, Shane. Glad you could make it. Come on in.’ Johnny cracked his knuckles, smiling as the tall, lanky young man was brought in by Billy.
Rubbing a bit of coke on his gums, Johnny’s crystal-blue eyes stared coldly. ‘Have I or have I not done a lot for you?’
Shane Hanlan mumbled, gazing down at the chipped, grey vinyl floor. ‘Yes, boss … yes.’
Amusing himself, Johnny tapped the cosh on the palm of his hand, winking at Billy as he leaned towards a trembling, blanching Shane. ‘I can’t hear you. Speak up, son.’
‘Yes, boss! Yes!’
‘That’s better. Now I need to ask you a question … Do you think I’m stupid?’
Shane’s head shot up, his eyes darted around the room as his words rushed out. ‘No, of course not! No way.’
‘No? Then why? Why after all that me and Ma have done for you, do you do this? We train you up. Give you a job. Even welcome you into our home. For what, though? So you can throw it all back in me face and go and leave me?’
‘I was going to come back. Straight up I was. Johnny, you got to believe me.’
Johnny Dwyer exploded. His handsome face turning red. He opened his mouth and bellowed as the veins in the side of his head swelled and pulsated. ‘Do I look like I have mug written all over me forehead? Well, do I?’
With his whole body shaking, Shane could just about tremble out a ‘No’.
‘No, that’s right. But you son, you have disloyalty written right through you, so much so it’s coming out of your fucking arse. And now you’ve given me no option. I got to teach you a lesson, and it breaks me heart to do so. But what choice did you give me, hey? You should never have tried to leave.’
He paused for a moment before whispering into Shane’s ear. ‘I already told ya, nobody leaves Johnny.’
Pulling back from him, Johnny Dwyer’s eyes filled with tears. He lifted the cosh in the air, staring compassionately at Shane. He smiled warmly, speaking softly.
‘I’m sorry, son. I really am.’
The cosh came whistling down, cracking and splitting Shane’s nose in one blow, tearing the skin apart on his eyelids. The blood splattered and poured all over the portacabin walls and floor, and as Johnny brought the cosh down time and time again, Shane Hanlan dropped to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony whilst begging for his life.
Ten minutes later, covered in blood, Johnny Dwyer sat on the floor exhausted, cradling Shane in his arms.
‘That’s it son, it’s over now. Don’t you worry about a thing. You hear me? No need to cry.’
A rasping sound bubbled from Shane’s mouth, his face swollen into an unrecognisable pulp.
‘We’ll get you cleaned up and then everything can get back to normal. And I’m really glad you’re back, son. I thought it was time for my boy to come back to me. You’d been gone long enough. But next time, just remember, nobody ever leaves me … ever.’
As Johnny bent down to kiss Shane on his forehead, a sound of screeching tyres and blaring horns came from outside the portacabin.
Leaping up, Johnny ran out. ‘What the …’
‘Get down, boss! Get down!’ Billy yelled as he dived on the floor and gunfire shots came hard and fast, cracking and speeding through the air, ricocheting off oil cans and scrap metal, and bouncing off skips in the yard.
Sprinting across in front of the portacabins, Johnny threw himself behind the pile of crashed racing cars, frantically scrambling to get to one of the numerous guns which were hidden around the yard.
‘Look out!’ Billy’s voice soared urgently through the air.
Spinning around, Johnny saw the dazzling lights of a speeding red car coming towards him. Desperately, he scrabbled along the hard, gravelled ground, waiting for the impact to hit. But instead the car came to a screeching halt, inches away.
Johnny could smell the heat from the engine. The bumper of the car almost in contact with his face. He was pinned against the wall and all he could do was watch whilst the driver of the car, dressed in a black balaclava, jumped out, rushing round to crouch down beside him.
‘Take this as a warning, Dwyer. Next time there won’t be another chance.’
Reversing at speed, the driver hurled a petrol bomb towards one of the barns, sending it up into a ball of yellow and orange flames. ‘You’ve been warned, Dwyer!’
Johnny silently watched the car drive off into the darkness. Tasting the hatred in his mouth.
‘Who do ya think it was, boss?’
Johnny’s face curled up into a snarl. ‘I don’t know, Billy, but when I find out, they’re going to be dead men.’
By the side of the old watermill on the River Bourne the red car pulled up, skidding to a halt in the darkness of the night. Pulling off his balaclava as he turned off the ignition, Alfie Jennings grinned at Vaughn. ‘Vaughnie, we’re back. We’re fucking back. Essex won’t know what’s hit them.’
TODAY (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
ESSEX
1 (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
Bree Dwyer chewed nervously on her fingers. She felt sick and was dog-tired having been up most of the night listening to every sound and jumping at every car light which came onto the site.
She glanced up at the large white, glittery-faced clock as she stood in the kitchen of her immaculate, newly decorated static mobile home which was situated just outside the village of Ashdon, close to Shadwell Wood.
She shared her home with her husband and little Molly and Kieran, and on the odd, miserable occasion, her mother-in-law, who only lived next door.
Sighing and taking a sip of orange juice out of an Arsenal mug, Bree tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry and too sticky, and her stomach kept alternating between painful cramps and butterflies.
She wasn’t ill, she knew that. Though she wished that was all it was. No, her problem was just down to good old-fashioned nerves. Because today was the day she was supposed to be leaving her husband, Johnny, once and for all.
A sudden wave of nausea rushed over her, forcing her to run to the bathroom and lean over the toilet bowl as the sweet sickly water rushed into her mouth. Starting to shake and praying it wasn’t the start of a panic attack, which she often suffered from. She took a deep breath, terrified at the thought of what she was about to do. A moment later, Bree Dwyer began to vomit.
Flushing the toilet, which was entirely encrusted with Swarovski crystals, Bree rinsed out her mouth, pushing her long blonde hair behind her ears. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, but quickly turned away. Hating what she saw. Hating seeing the look of fear in her green eyes, reminding her of a startled rabbit.
Holding onto the basin, Bree squeezed her eyes shut, took another deep breath before counting down from ten. Okay, she was ready. It was about to begin.
‘Molly! Kieran! Quickly! Come on babies, we got to go.’
A few seconds later, Molly, who’d just turned six and proudly told anybody who’d listen, appeared at the bathroom door, clutching one of her stuffed giraffes.
Her long corkscrew blonde hair tumbled down in waves over her tiny, little shoulders. She spoke, sounding like someone much older than her age.
‘What’s the rush? Where are we going? Are the others coming?’
Bending down to hurriedly button up Molly’s butterfly print blouse properly, Bree shook her head, speaking in a whisper as if there was somebody listening. ‘No, darlin’, they’re not.’
Molly scowled. Her button nose wrinkling up. ‘Why not? I want them to come.’
Nervously, Bree looked around. It seemed like her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, it was just about the only thing she could hear. ‘I know sweetheart, but if they do, then they’ll find out about the surprise.’
Molly’s face suddenly lit up. She called in excitement, ‘Kieran! Kieran! Come on, there’s a surprise.’
Panicked at the volume of her daughter’s voice, Bree gently shushed Molly, putting her finger over her lips. ‘Shhh! We got to try to keep quiet, darlin’. We don’t want anyone hearing us, do we?’
Smiling and kissing Molly on her forehead, Bree tried to push down the rising panic, attempting to ignore the thought she’d started something she couldn’t finish.
‘Well, what is it? What’s the surprise? Is it for me?’ Kieran Dwyer, although only nine, was the spitting image of his father. Both in temperament and looks. He stood at the bathroom door, grinning widely. He loved surprises.
‘No, sweetheart.’
Kieran folded his arms petulantly, reminding Bree so much of Johnny. ‘Then I ain’t going bleedin’ nowhere. Go on your own.’
Tenderly smoothing down his thick black hair, Bree looked sadly at Kieran. She loved him so much at times it ached, but with each passing day, Kieran was becoming more and more like Johnny. Idolising him and wanting to be just like his father when he ‘grew up’; another reason why she had to get them away before it was too late.
Patiently, Bree spoke, crouching down to Kieran’s height. ‘Okay, I tell you what, how about this. If you come with me now, I’ll buy you any game you want.’
Kieran’s blue eyes darkened as he stared suspiciously at Bree. ‘Any game?’
‘Any. I promise. But we have to go, now.’
‘Why?’
That was enough talk. Grabbing hold of both Kieran’s and Molly’s hands, Bree gently pulled the pair along the hallway. But as they neared the front door, it burst open and a tall figure, silhouetted against the bright sun, stood just inside the hallway.
‘Hello, darlin’. What’s all this then?’
Backing away, Bree clutched the children’s hands tightly as she began to shake.
‘Johnny … I … I …’
High-pitched laughter burst out as he clapped his hands, skipping on the spot. ‘Bree falls for it every time! Funny Bree. Funny Bree.’
Bree’s legs collapsed underneath her. ‘Ryan! You bleedin’ idiot. What you have to go and do that for?’
Ryan shrugged, looking hurt. His face crumpled as he held his head and rocked back and forth on the spot. ‘I found kittens. Nice, nice kittens. Have I done bad? Has Ryan done bad? In trouble with Ma? In trouble with Ma?’
Bree stared at Ryan Dwyer, Johnny’s identical twin brother. She tried to keep her voice even as she smiled at him kindly, trying to alleviate his panic. ‘Shhh, Ryan. It’s okay. You’re not in trouble. I promise. But we have to go. Come on, hurry.’
Molly piped up. ‘We’re going to get a surprise.’
Ryan’s eyes narrowed, looking troubled, his mind trying to comprehend. He stuttered.
‘Does … does … does Johnny know? Got to tell Johnny. We tell Johnny.’
Getting up, with her legs still trembling, Bree spoke soothingly. ‘Well it wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it, Ryan. Look, darlin’, we need to go. Come on Molly, hold my hand.’
Bree only managed to get part way down the stone white path before Ryan, who was dressed as usual in a blue Ralph Lauren tracksuit, stopped.
‘Wait! Need to tell Ma!’
Bree spun round, her face strained with fear. ‘No, Ryan, you don’t need to do that. Please. It’s just our secret. Remember? It will spoil the surprise.’
Ryan turned his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Bree. He rocked on his feet, looking anxious as he played with his hands. ‘No, need to tell Ma. Need to tell Ma. Ma! Ma!’
‘Please, Ryan, no! Don’t!’
‘Ma!’
The pink front door to the next mobile home was opened. ‘What the bleedin’ hell’s all that racket for?’
Ma Dwyer stood in a blue, silk cornflower print dressing gown, tied too tightly around her bulging waistline. She rested her arms on her hips as her grossly obese body wobbled towards Bree and Ryan; the top of her legs sounding noisily as they rubbed and squelched together with sweat.
With egg yolk dried on her chin, Ma Dwyer sniffed, then burped loudly. ‘This better bloody be good Ryan, otherwise I’ll be giving you another brain injury.’
Holding Ryan’s hand, Bree shook her head frantically. Her eyes wide with terror. ‘Ryan, no. Look at me, no!’
‘What she bleedin’ on about? Go on, tell yer ma.’
A moment of hesitation rushed through Ryan’s eyes before Ma Dwyer reached up and whacked her son hard around the head. ‘I’m talking to you, you little shit.’
Ryan rubbed his head, looking so much younger than his thirty years. ‘We shouldn’t tell you. Can’t tell Ma.’
Ma stared at Ryan. Her voice was mean and hard. ‘I’m warning you son, you better tell me, unless of course you want to be in trouble. Is that what you want, Ryan? You want to be in trouble?’
Agitated, Ryan looked down, playing with his hands as he shook his head. ‘No. No.’
‘Then tell me!’
Blurting the words out as quickly as he could, Ryan said, ‘She’s off to get Johnny a surprise. A secret.’
Ma Dwyer grinned nastily. ‘Is she now … Take the kids into the house, Ryan, I want a little word with Bree.’
‘But I want to see the kittens.’
‘I said take the friggin’ kids inside, you dopey muppet!’
Ma Dwyer watched as Ryan skipped into the house with Molly and Kieran, who were giggling happily. She turned coldly to Bree.
‘So now you can tell me all about this surprise, or maybe I should just call Johnny and ask him … Oh, no need … Look … Somebody’s going to be taught a lesson.’
As Ma cackled, Bree swivelled round to see Johnny’s black Range Rover coming up the drive. The next minute Bree started to run, listening to the sound of Ma Dwyer’s screeching voice behind her.
‘Johnny! Johnny! Quick, she went that way!’
Bree Dwyer had never run so fast in her life. She could hardly get her breath as she leapt and bounded through the thick undergrowth of Shadwell Wood, feeling the bushes and branches tearing at her flesh.
She could hear Johnny behind her as she raced through the woods. Faster and faster she went, stumbling down ditches, scrambling and falling as her shoe caught in the twisted shrubs. She slipped on the wet leaves and her nails scraped at the mud as she tried to get her footing, as she slid back down the hill.
She could taste her tears and her own fear and her chest began to tighten. She was too afraid to look behind her, but she knew Johnny was there. Closing in. Coming to get her.
‘Don’t run from me, Bree! There’s nowhere to go!’
Johnny’s voice seemed to engulf the whole of the area; echoing through the trees, echoing through the branches. Her legs were aching now, but she continued to run, her thin trousers covered in blood. She headed towards a small, gravelled track aiming for the copse on the other side.
‘Bree! Bree!’
She glanced back, then she heard a roar. A screech. The sudden slamming of brakes.
‘Look where you’re going, you dozy mare! I could’ve killed you.’
She spun round, feeling the car on her leg as she leant her hands on the hot bonnet. Panting.
Blinking.
Staring at the driver. A moment of slight recognition passed between them before Bree began to run.
‘Hey, come back! You alright, love?’
Limping, she leant against a tree, trying to get her breath. She had no idea where she was, and even though the woods were close to where she lived, she’d never ventured into them on her own.
Setting off again along an overgrown path, Bree heard the cracking of twigs but before she had time to turn around, heavy, rough hands grabbed her. She screamed as she was pulled down into the undergrowth. Feeling Johnny’s breath against her neck.
She froze as he sat behind her, putting his hands round her waist, drawing her in between his legs. Kissing her on her neck whilst stroking her hair.
He spoke quietly. A dangerous lull in his voice. ‘What did you think you were doing, Bree?’
Her words were breathless with fear. ‘Nothing.’
‘You was going to leave me, weren’t you?’
She shook her head quickly. ‘I wasn’t, I swear, Johnny.’
Slightly too hard, he nibbled the lobe of her ear, making Bree flinch. ‘I don’t believe you, baby.’
Bree shivered, feeling like she had a thousand ants crawling underneath her skin. ‘All I wanted to do was just take the kids out. I was going to get you a surprise.’
He shrieked into her ear, causing the nesting starlings to fly out of the trees and into the sky. ‘Liar!’
‘Please, Johnny.’
‘You know what I have to do now Bree, don’t you? I have to teach you a lesson.’
Bree couldn’t control her shaking, her body went into spasms, and she didn’t know if it was just the wet earth or if she’d wet herself in fear.
‘And why do I, Bree? Why do I have to teach you a lesson?’
Bree stayed silent as her whole body trembled.
‘I said, why do I? Say it! Say it, Bree!’
Crying and gasping for air, Bree Dwyer closed her eyes, only just managing to speak.
‘Because nobody ever leaves Johnny.’
2 (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
‘Wakey, wakey! Come on my handsome darlin’s, what’s all this? The day has started and you two pieces of lump are still in bed.’
Lola Harding cackled loudly as she energetically opened the curtains in the garishly decorated silver and velvet master bedroom of Janine Jennings’ large mansion just outside the straggling village of Wimbish in Essex.
‘Do me a favour! Bloody hell, Lola! Turn it in. Are you trying to kill me?’
‘No one died of a bit of sunshine, hey Janine?’
Leaning against the bedroom door, Janine Jennings sniffed as she bit into her fifth chocolate biscuit of the morning. ‘Don’t know why yer bothering, my husband has always been a lazy bastard.’
Alfie Jennings sat straight up. ‘Ex-husband.’
Janine guffawed with laughter. Her gold necklaces jangling with her. ‘You see, that’s the way to get him out of bed; remind him of our nuptials. Come on Vaughnie, take them covers off yer head. What’s wrong with you two? You asked me to wake you up.’
Alfie groaned. ‘Not this bloody early. And if I’d known me and Vaughnie had to share a bed when you said we could stay, I wouldn’t have bothered.’
Janine scowled. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers and anyway it’s only temporary, ain’t it?’ She paused before adding, ‘I thought you were supposed to be picking up Franny today.’
Alfie’s smile was tight as he tried not to let his anger overwhelm him as he thought of Franny. Franny Doyle, the woman he’d given his heart to. So strong, so beautiful, so clever, so fearless yet with a vulnerability which had made him fall in love with her, no matter how much he had tried to stop himself. But he had, and he’d fallen hard.
The daughter of one of the most notorious gangsters, he’d met Franny in Soho but after a while they’d decided to leave and go and live in Spain; there was nothing in the West End for them anymore. The place had changed beyond recognition. There was no more making money. Gangsters and faces had moved out. Tourists and foreigners, druggies and coffee shops had moved in. The council had clamped down, going into overdrive on any illegal activity, something they would’ve once turned a blind eye to or at least he could’ve paid them off. So, Spain had been their ideal.
He’d even given up the business for her after she’d become tired of seeing how many people it hurt. And he’d been happy to go semi-legitimate, or as happy as he could’ve been. But now, now was entirely different and happy certainly wasn’t a word which came to mind.
He stared at Janine and then at Vaughn. He shrugged, trying his best to sound unruffled.
‘There’s been a slight change of plan.’
Vaughn’s words shot out. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Look, calm down, nothing’s wrong. Franny’s on her way, she’s just been a bit delayed, that’s all.’
Incensed, Vaughn got out of bed, throwing the duvet in Alfie’s face. He walked across to the crushed velvet window seat and lit up a cigarette, inhaling it hard.
‘That’s all? She’s got two million quid of our money which, let me remind you, is all the money we’ve got in the world, and you expect me to be calm?’
Alfie got up from the mattress, pulling on his red sweat top over his muscular body, much to Lola’s dismay; albeit she was nearing seventy, she still had an admiring eye for a handsome man.
Then, lying through his teeth, Alfie said, ‘It’s just a little hiccup. Apparently when Franny got on the boat there were a lot of coast guards and police about at Puerto Banús and Puerto de la Bajadilla doing a routine sweep of all the private vessels, so she thought it was best to wait until everything’s quietened down before they set off. She knows what she’s doing.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Franny knows exactly what she’s doing.’
Alfie stared at Vaughn, hoping the anger he felt towards Franny didn’t show on his face. Hoping he didn’t give anything away. Not yet anyway.
When they’d left for Spain, both he and Vaughn – who he’d known since he was a teenager – had invested in property. Clubs and restaurants initially, then finally a resort just south of Torremolinos, but then – and maybe it was his own fault for not keeping an eye on the legitimate businesses as he had done the illegitimate ones – the developer had gone bankrupt before the place had been finished, heading off to Mexico with their money, leaving unpaid workers and contractors as well as him and Vaughn out of pocket. The bank had closed in and they’d been left with not much change from fuck all.
But just when they’d started to worry, Reginald Reynolds, Essex kingpin, number one face and an old trusted friend of them both, had got in contact wanting to sell his bookmaker business, which not only incorporated the best legal pitches at racetracks like Cheltenham and Newmarket, but also the monopoly on the systematic illegal betting market in the East of England. And of course, they’d jumped at the chance. It was not only the reason they’d been looking for to come back home to Essex, it was a licence to print money. And all for just two million big ones.
It was a deal that couldn’t be missed and once they’d shaken on it, Reggie had put the word around that he and Vaughn were going to be his successors when he retired, which not surprisingly hadn’t gone down well with a lot of people.
They hadn’t known at the time, but Reginald hadn’t been retiring but had been fighting cancer, and was just putting his affairs in order for his family before it was too late. Two weeks after the details had been sorted, his widow, Reenie had been in touch letting them know Reginald was dead.
Vaughn had sold his house and Alfie had sold his villa, getting the money they needed together. Obviously, the likes of Reggie and his family only dealt in cash and certainly no transfers through any bank, so it was decided that they would travel to England first and Franny would follow with the cash on the boat of an old associate of theirs, later. Easy. Or it was supposed to have been.
‘Fuck’s sake, what’s with all the paranoia? Just leave it, okay?’
Alfie turned around but felt Vaughn’s grip on his arm. ‘Listen, until I have me money in me hand, I ain’t going to leave anything. You hear me?’
‘Get yer hands off me.’ Alfie shoved Vaughn, who fell back into Lola, then, just managing to keep his balance, Vaughn sprang at Alfie, grabbing hold of his top. With his face red, he hissed his warning.
‘I’ve already lost nearly everything because you didn’t keep your eye on the ball with that developer, pretending everything was fine. So, I’m telling you now Alfie, if anything’s happened to me money, I’m going to hold you responsible. And I’ll come for you. You understand me?’
‘Don’t threaten me, Vaughn, unless you want to be a dead man walking.’
Scrabbling between them, Lola tried to pull the men apart. She appealed to Vaughn. ‘This is Franny we’re talking about. She ain’t going to rip you off, is she? None of this is Alfie’s fault. I know you’ve had it tough these last few months, but see sense, Vaughn.’
‘Have you forgotten that Franny is the daughter of Patrick Doyle, one of the biggest gangsters there was?’
‘No, but …’
‘But nothing Lola. The apple don’t fall far from the tree, does it?’
Lola, not enjoying hearing Vaughn saying anything negative about her friend, put her hands on her hips as she stood in front of him. ‘Vaughn Sadler, have you ever, in all the time that you’ve known Franny, had any reason not to trust her?’
‘No, but …’
‘But nothing, right back at you. If Franny says she’s been delayed, then she’s been delayed. It’s going to be fine.’
Vaughn, unable to help himself, snapped at Lola. ‘In less than a month’s time we are supposed to be finalising the deal with Reginald Reynolds’ widow to buy his pitches, pay off who needs to be paid off to get the bookies’ licences, as well as recruit and pay a trusted team of men that we can have around us. Tell me Lola, how the fuck are we supposed to do that now? More to the point, how are you expecting me to keep calm when some bird is floating round the Costa with two million big ones in her back pocket?’
‘Vaughn, love—’
‘No, Lola! Hear me out. Reginald did us a favour by putting us first in line for his business. Everybody wanted it, and you know that. Once we get it up and running – if we do – it’ll mean we won’t have to think about money again, but now, thanks to this muppet, there’s a chance we could lose this opportunity.’
Alfie glared at Vaughn. ‘Stop winding yourself up, mate. It’ll be fine.’
‘Will it? It better be, because I’ve risked everything on this. Sold everything I had right under me missus’ nose and because of that, she’s gone and left me. That money is all I’ve got.’
‘It ain’t only yours.’
‘No, but it wasn’t me who gave the money to Franny, was it?’
Alfie, always one to be hot headed, said, ‘Look, so she’s delayed, it’s no biggie. You’re acting like someone’s robbed your fucking grave. And as for Casey, maybe you should’ve been more honest with your missus, perhaps that way she might not have done a runner, or maybe it was just her excuse.’
Vaughn went to swing at Alfie but pulled back as Lola stepped in his way. She smiled at him, hating seeing them argue. ‘Vaughn, lovie, please. Alf’s right, you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing. Franny will be here soon, and as for Casey, she’ll come round and see sense. Once she understands you did it for your future, she’ll be fine about it. I’ll have a word with her if it helps. Look, how about instead of all this arguing, which ain’t going to do any of us any good, why don’t I make you all some breakfast?’
The resounding cry of ‘no’ was heard round the room as everyone present remembered the days of Lola’s café, which she’d run in Soho for years. Her breakfasts had been infamous.
Lola shrugged. ‘Then at least kiss and make up. Come on, Vaughn. Alf, how about you?’
Neither of the men moved and Lola sighed. She’d known and loved Alfie and Vaughn for as long as she could remember, meeting them in Soho back in the day. In all that time she’d never known the two men have so few options, but then, they may never have come back to England otherwise. She hid a small smile. Every cloud.
Vaughn, ignoring Lola’s plea for reconciliation, spoke to Alfie, his voice full of hostility.
‘And what are we supposed to do for money until Franny comes? What are we supposed to tell Reginald’s widow?’
‘We tell her nothing because there’s nothing to tell. And in the meantime, we stick to our plan. We let everybody know we’re back and we mean business. Essex is ours for the taking.’
‘Just the two of us?’
‘Yeah, because they won’t know that, will they. We give it large like we always did. And in a couple of days Franny will be here, and then we’ll have the money to recruit some of the people who used to work for us. It’ll be sweet.’
Vaughn looked at Alfie. ‘Okay, but I’m telling you, Franny needs to be here by the end of the week.’
Janine, who’d been unusually quiet, piped up. ‘And you’ve got here. You can both stay here with me.’
‘See, there’s an offer no man can resist.’ As he said it, Alfie rolled his eyes causing Janine to let out a screech.
‘I saw that! Did you see that, Lola? Bleedin’ fucking cheek. I don’t know why I bother. You should be thanking me, Alfie. You should be grateful.’
‘Grateful! I’d be more grateful to an arse full of piles.’
Seething, Janine turned to Lola. ‘I knew this was a bad idea. I should never have listened to you. I’m a mug. That’s what me mates said when I told them I was going to let you stay. They said, Janine. You. Are. A. Mug.’
Lola pushed Janine and Vaughn gently out of the door. She smiled at Alfie. ‘Why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs for a nice cup of tea.’
‘Thanks Lola, I’ll be there in a minute.’
‘And Alfie, it’s good to have you back … I missed ya. Both of ya.’
Hearing the others heading downstairs, Alfie pulled out his phone. He stared at the text from Franny.
Please don’t be angry Alfie, but something’s come up. It’s probably better if you don’t know what. But trust me when I say, I wish it could be different. I won’t be coming to England. One day you’ll understand why I’ve done this. If it’s any consolation, I do love you. F.
Dialling Franny’s number, it switched straight onto voicemail. Speaking quietly Alfie hissed through his teeth. ‘Franny, it’s me. You better start picking up the fucking phone, you hear me? Just pick up the fucking phone. I want my money.’
He clicked off the call before hurling the phone against the wall, wondering which was greater, his broken heart or his anger.
3 (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
Stepping out of his silver Audi Q5, which had seen better days, Eddie Styler lit a cigarette, admiring as he always did the mock-Tudor cladding he’d had fitted last year on the large, five-bedroom property on the private gated estate, just south of Emerson Park, Essex.
The place was a far cry from the run-down council block in South London he’d been born and brought up in, where drug addicts shot up on stairwells and anyone passing who cared to used the lobby as a giant urinal.
Unlike his childhood home, which he’d been ashamed of, number 25 Colney Close impressed, making him the envy of his family, most of whom still resided in the same shit hole they were born in and no doubt would be carried out in a box from.
It’d been the double garage feature of the house which had excited him, and within minutes of seeing the place, he’d put in an offer, well over the asking price, much to his wife, Sandra’s disgust. But then, when wasn’t the moany cow disgusted at him for one thing or another? And God, didn’t she just like to remind him how it was her money and not his that had bought the place.
But they were married, so by rights that made it his whether she liked it or not. To have and to hold. For richer, for poorer. His home. His castle.
Irritated at the thought of her, Eddie gritted his teeth too hard, causing the white filling that’d cost him near on three hundred quid last week, start to throb, making his present mood considerably worse.
Stomping towards the house and having inhaled deeply on the cigarette, which made his green eyes water, Eddie opened the front door, being hit immediately by the nauseating smell of Sandra’s constantly burning vanilla and honeysuckle scented candle, causing his eyes to water some more.
He clenched his fists feeling the stress catapult through him. How long he’d resented Sandra he didn’t know. Maybe it was the moment he’d said ‘I do’ and had lifted her wedding veil to see her dark, cold beady eyes staring at him as she chewed down on a piece of gum. But no matter when it was, Eddie knew he resented her now … hated the stupid cow now.
They’d made an odd-looking couple; her at six foot three – all pale skin and jutting bones – and him, barely five foot tall of rounded Greek heritage. But it hadn’t mattered, because money had been the reason he’d got together with her in the first place, desperate to escape the poverty of his life, and Sandra, with her flashy car and expensive shoes, had been his ticket out. Well, that’s what he’d thought she was. But rather than having money at his fingertips as he’d imagined, she’d held onto her bank accounts tightly like they were a life raft.
Despite her, over the years he’d tried to make a name for himself, wheeling and dealing, using old contacts and being the middle- man for the Mr Bigs, but each time he’d thought he was making a reputation, each time he could smell success, each time he thought he could finally leave Sandra, someone or something came along to squeeze the balls out of whatever deal he was trying to make and he’d be left with nothing at all.
But a few years ago, things had started to look up. He’d got the call from Reginald Reynolds, the number one face in Essex, who made the Kray twins look like something out of a children’s storybook. And he’d worked hard for Reginald. Becoming his right-hand man. Setting up the beatings, the tortures, the paybacks, the deals, and with Reginald Reynolds’ men behind him, his own name had become synonymous with fear. There wasn’t a man alive who’d say no to him. He could run up debts at casinos, debts with pimps, he had money at his fingertips. That was, of course, before Reginald Reynolds had popped his clogs at a very inconvenient time.
At first though, he’d been pleased that Reginald had finally snuffed it, assuming he was going to take the Essex crown. But after discovering from Reggie’s widow, Reenie, that rather than him – after all his loyalty – being the natural successor to his empire, he’d arranged that the scumbags, Alfie Jennings and Vaughn Sadler, were going to take over, he’d gone to the cemetery in Chigwell and pissed on Reginald’s grave.
But there was one thing that Reginald hadn’t managed to finalise before he’d died. A deal which only he really knew about. And once he’d pulled it off, things were going to be different. What he had lined up would change everything and no one was going to mess this up. And unlike all the other times, there was no question he wasn’t going to pull it off. Because everything was riding on it. Everything.
Even though Reginald had left some outstanding money to pay on the goods, thankfully he was able to find some cash himself by forging Sandra’s name on a remortgage application, getting the readies transferred into a bank account she didn’t know about, which had given him enough to finalise the deal of all deals, and all without any of Reggie’s men or family knowing about it. And the beautiful thing was, even if Sandra did eventually find out about the loan, it wouldn’t matter because they’d literally be rolling in it. Or rather he would. And then? Well then, it’d be adios Sandra.
Tiptoeing along the dark, oak wooden hallway to the cupboard under the stairs, he glanced up towards the bedroom, pausing and checking for any sound. He opened the stair cupboard door, quickly rummaging in the large box of tools he never used, and pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey. The screw top couldn’t come off fast enough for Eddie and he knocked it back in one; wincing at the burn.
Content and preoccupied in his thoughts, Eddie absentmindedly stepped backwards, knocking over one of Sandra’s glass candle holders, shattering shards of glass all over the dark wooden floor.
‘Bollocks!’
Sighing and feeling the effect of the alcohol, Eddie heard Sandra, her voice grating through the silence of the darkness.
‘Eddie, is that you? What time is it? Eddie! What the bleedin’ hell are you doing?’
Walking up the stairs, Eddie thought it best to knock a couple of hours off, knowing that his wife would start to complain and ask a dozen questions about where he’d been if she knew the real time.
Gritting his teeth, he gave a saccharine reply. ‘It’s one o’clock, teddy bear. Go back to sleep.’
Immediately, the bedside light flicked on, and Sandra, sleepy eyed and messy haired, stared at him accusingly. ‘How the fuck am I supposed to sleep when you’re banging about like a brass band?’
Knowing it was best not to reply, Eddie undressed and slipped into bed, feeling the cold as if the sheets were made of a thin layer of ice. He shivered as he lay on the very edge of the super king size bed, which was mostly taken up by Sandra and all her cushions.
‘Is Barrie in okay?’
In no mood to go on an early morning hunt for the cat he hated – who perpetually seemed to have a supercilious smugness on his face – and having seen him wandering down the street yesterday morning and not since, Eddie answered casually, pushing down the sense of loathing towards Sandra that immersed his whole being.
‘He’s curled up on the sofa …’
‘Have you been drinking?’
Too quickly, Eddie shook his head and answered, ‘No.’
For the next few minutes Sandra continued to stare, looking for a giveaway tell-tale sign as Eddie Styler smiled reassuringly at his wife, trying to push down his hatred, thinking as he so often did how like her brother, Alfie Jennings, she looked.
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Jacqui Rose
Sometimes love is toxic…Bree Dwyer is desperate to escape her husband, take the children and run. But he’s always watching. And she always gets caught. Until her first love, Alfie Jennings, returns to Essex…Gangsters Alfie and Vaughn have been out of the game for a while, but a life of crime is one you never forget.To get back on top they need serious money, because loyalty and power don’t come for free. One dangerous job and they’ll have the payoff they need. And Alfie isn’t going to let anyone get in the way, least of all a pretty face like Bree.It’s time to show Essex what they’re made of. And this time, Alfie and Vaughn aren’t backing down.Praise for Toxic‘Jacqui Rose is back and with an exciting, nailbiting book. Welcome back Jacqui.’ Netgalley Reviewer‘This book needs to come with a warning: addictive and can not put down’ Netgalley Reviewer‘A gripping thriller!! I loved it… I highly recommend this One!!’ Netgalley Reviewer‘Toxic is fast-paced and thrilling with the right amount of tension and suspense, so I was kept turning the pages keen to find out how things would finish. Well done to Jacqui, I can't wait to read more!’ Netgalley Reviewer‘The story is fast paced and full of tension with plenty of twists which has an open ending ready for the next instalment.’ Netgalley Reviewer
Copyright (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2018
Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2018
Cover design © Alison Groom 2018
Cover photograph © Irina Bg / Shutterstock
Cover photograph © Lawrence Garwood / Alamy
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 e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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: 9780008287283
Ebook Edition © Jun 2018 ISBN: 9780008287290
Version: 2018-06-21
Dedication (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
To AP and Boo – my joy, my heart, my soul’s desire, my keepers of my peace, my freedom givers, my wingless journeymen – it’s only a shame horses can’t read.
The Devil asked me how I knew my way around the halls of hell. I told him I did not need a map for the darkness I know so well.
Table of Contents
Cover (#uda8e768e-2870-5c70-b98f-c9fcaa626392)
Title Page (#ubd5005e6-fe61-5070-8e88-d45c949a6f4c)
Copyright (#u5bab1cff-6d2a-5039-8ec4-71375f9507a7)
Dedication (#u75d81b37-646d-560a-81b6-27f730100a85)
Epigraph (#u3e792c07-754d-548f-b001-3f426a3812e4)
Before (#ub9986daf-0041-5c77-a452-d1d2d1bd2bb1)
Yesterday (#uc61b4232-5223-5708-9a0f-7e462cbf608c)
Today (#u9c9b19a1-4e96-5af5-bc74-56fe03fba0bc)
Chapter 2 (#ud6b7cd83-0b3f-5845-b593-63941a03d060)
Chapter 3 (#ueb7b8d80-9e2a-5226-8d7c-fe75264a49e2)
Chapter 4 (#u056d9b41-862e-501d-bc28-93716817484d)
Chapter 5 (#u4fd2254b-76fb-5e9f-9389-fb6cde910b63)
Chapter 6 (#u4b0bcbc3-de54-5fb2-b869-741b7b2cbf0a)
Chapter 7 (#u8456bf3a-28e8-598a-8667-d9b7dc093e91)
Chapter 8 (#u78ee8a02-b52d-5324-854a-d2be4139c73d)
Chapter 9 (#uaab0f1b0-308c-5bd7-9aa3-963cf87d113c)
Chapter 10 (#ub0dd989c-eea6-5876-8870-02f5488cfc3c)
Chapter 11 (#u195bedd3-c536-5290-b576-70e8116a4ddc)
Chapter 12 (#u4fdd49e2-9728-5314-88ae-a353e0929aac)
Chapter 13 (#u315ac6da-de53-5788-9df3-4349e4a49ea9)
Chapter 14 (#u987d3d91-e9d1-5614-863d-e1116d5eee71)
Chapter 15 (#ua96e6452-5987-5b27-8e5d-79b02a8443aa)
Chapter 16 (#u7cdda34b-8d73-5573-b16a-7940830871c6)
Chapter 17 (#uecbddfd9-4e34-58d4-b8f2-ef53ab56f8aa)
Chapter 18 (#uf7ffc5e2-2c58-5cab-9c2e-042749e42570)
Chapter 19 (#uf9890896-5d23-54c3-b532-64ee8fd0fd90)
Chapter 20 (#uf6237a68-74d2-51be-9baa-8e1c905242ca)
Chapter 21 (#u56f59d8b-6db2-51bc-acb0-4e139ca5a4f7)
Chapter 22 (#ua4e41af2-4b17-5c1b-a11d-3ee552a9839c)
Chapter 23 (#u64e7ac53-2d76-500a-8ffc-d5545aae010d)
Chapter 24 (#u7cb85325-d187-5842-bf3d-a905b1ba783b)
Chapter 25 (#u375cad4c-1359-5e0a-abcd-32d7b74031fc)
Chapter 26 (#u2c0c6481-1042-577b-9978-135c063146b0)
Chapter 27 (#u618c771c-4e0e-5776-9a33-2c070eb1aa7e)
Chapter 28 (#u0dc36584-b193-500c-b4d1-8f70ae2bb3f1)
Chapter 29 (#u8c7f4152-1b50-5f0b-86a1-5fd4e24d1fb6)
Chapter 30 (#u5942e2a6-e2bf-591b-a122-41e17d4ba9ef)
Chapter 31 (#u9c853a79-8497-5d65-90b2-28be571a25c6)
Chapter 32 (#u94abe9a8-e094-5dfb-adc4-8d8632416683)
Chapter 33 (#u2aa246f7-264e-5b9d-b99f-00f55428fc7f)
Chapter 34 (#u266e18c8-f4e1-5a50-864b-dee66082fee5)
Chapter 35 (#u0a25b5fe-3048-597d-b6e4-a4a35461a02e)
Chapter 36 (#ub60fa50b-9143-5473-9bb7-abdba5f8c416)
Chapter 37 (#u6b8dc892-ab54-5124-8574-be09115d6829)
Chapter 38 (#u036fc79a-90ac-5aa4-ae0b-cc499702f369)
Chapter 39 (#u825d918d-e14f-55fa-8039-391b7513a5e7)
Chapter 40 (#u68b35a07-c53e-5c63-8456-129cb7aeed46)
Chapter 41 (#ue776bd42-7dfd-5b19-bbe4-bcd4a644684e)
Chapter 42 (#u0519e9bf-d1e8-50b0-8837-8ce66f3a3a06)
Chapter 43 (#u99c73806-1a6e-575b-95e8-e2ec4682041e)
Chapter 44 (#uf24a4e70-eb76-5bbb-9005-0894cb715fed)
Chapter 45 (#u4e73fc42-df96-559a-afdb-6c23e0a6746c)
Chapter 46 (#u3823954e-6db1-5c47-b622-6a3dd8452117)
Chapter 47 (#u54284e69-f73e-53fa-87d3-40ebf1ca572a)
Chapter 48 (#u253bd42f-daa4-5a6f-8ad2-f91a7ee49c2a)
Chapter 49 (#ue06c9e4b-d633-5ce4-a65b-9bdc24634e01)
Chapter 50 (#u8df3502d-c887-5251-a477-958f967193bf)
Chapter 51 (#u61e039e2-dfec-59c0-8917-2ae4c7656e03)
Chapter 52 (#u2849bdb0-fc31-5aa0-ab97-083f854d944b)
Chapter 53 (#u2dd181d7-033d-5f21-8404-74f068e25d6d)
Chapter 54 (#u50e706ec-0159-517c-bea5-b2552374cef6)
Chapter 55 (#u03350774-07a1-56bd-84db-7573e41b7618)
Chapter 56 (#u505df141-436e-5582-bf28-f9eed5120f58)
Chapter 57 (#u4fb4990f-5601-553c-ad9a-4f723495b3c6)
Chapter 58 (#u367fddfe-89d9-5e02-94d0-07b7ed87db1f)
Chapter 59 (#ua6dee4af-3872-50f0-8406-2127f6d025fc)
Chapter 60 (#u1c41a613-aab0-5dd9-929f-6cc49579ec84)
Chapter 61 (#u8ad77711-1002-5695-bbd0-e9483eda884e)
Chapter 62 (#u55e33e76-ebac-54d8-ab79-1bf7937f7f9d)
Chapter 63 (#u42ed5627-245f-5c49-ba62-112d7c13fceb)
Chapter 64 (#uc6032f70-a146-5041-941b-59370f89de30)
Chapter 65 (#u93fee10d-0ef4-5b40-9bcd-34bde1db12a3)
Chapter 66 (#u98ad0e72-e55f-5692-a924-caf79e090b3a)
Chapter 67 (#u62a343e9-ee94-5a11-a235-eb27242215ae)
Chapter 68 (#u7b238f94-f345-5d1a-b99c-f061947408ad)
Chapter 69 (#u0545d079-faae-53a8-a431-85822ea0eaea)
Chapter 70 (#u8d14dcbc-3904-5c91-a346-6f9b2f577161)
Chapter 71 (#u8739dc13-fd91-5b10-ab0d-c5d11e1498d3)
Chapter 72 (#u844bfebf-9562-566d-8ac1-07854546e41b)
Chapter 73 (#u3eda0030-b8c4-5647-8c7c-06167022676f)
Chapter 74 (#ue0cd287c-1325-5513-bac7-90b930fefb60)
Chapter 75 (#u7609f046-a84c-5e46-8b15-c0941100bd81)
Chapter 76 (#u9710edc8-c79c-524e-b145-507dcbf40faa)
Two Months Later (#ueeb5d3f3-c15f-51e8-b315-f856b71b48a6)
Acknowledgements (#u8e1e59bb-b8be-556b-9560-8c09b61dddc3)
If You Loved Toxic, Turn the Page for a Sneak Peek From Jacqui’s Thrilling New Book Fatal Coming Soon … (#uc355df82-939f-5960-9d0d-85a64c4790fd)
Keep reading … (#ue2fb9c90-f789-54c3-9e6a-0d3c009b7fa5)
About the Author (#ucf4e6861-a94f-512d-bab5-f25775180bda)
Also by Jacqui Rose (#uc3456715-31c9-5b77-87c8-9958daf15af3)
About the Publisher (#uf12a28c7-f678-5834-b172-06255ceb667e)
BEFORE (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
She could hear them now. They weren’t far behind. Closing in and coming ever nearer, calling their names. She could almost feel their breath on her neck, their cloying touch on her skin, pulling her back. They needed to move but above the sound of the rain she could hear the barking dogs, louder and louder. They didn’t have long. She knew that. She could feel the bloodtrickling down her legs and panic beginning to rise as the dark set in. And the pain, the pain was getting worse. She couldn’t breathe. It was holding her. Slowing her down, making her not want to move, but she had to push through. They had to keep going. They couldn’t rest, not until they were safe. Shhh, they had to be quiet. They had to be still … The dogs, there they were again. Nearer … Nearer … But oh God, the pain. She didn’t know how long she could bare it … Maybe if they just stayed here. Maybe they’d be okay, but she was so cold, and the bleeding was getting heavier … Oh Christ, the blood. The dogs would smell the blood if she didn’t cover it up.
Then, crawling out into the moonlight as the rain poured down, she saw them, they were coming. It was too late, they were coming …
YESTERDAY (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
ESSEX
In a remote scrap yard, four miles outside Saffron Waldon, Johnny Dwyer bent over the perfectly cut up lines of coke. He paused, almost in reverence, looking appreciatively at the white powder before eagerly pushing the fifty-pound note up into his nostril, hungrily sampling the new batch of cocaine he’d just shipped in.
He felt the burn at the back of his nose followed by the tingling sensation in his throat. This was the best part. The first rush which he’d spend the rest of the night trying to chase.‘Can I move now, Johnny? I’ve got cramp in me bleedin’ foot.’
Johnny stared down at the brass in disgust. Whores, they were all the same. Moaning and doing his head in. Jesus, if he’d wanted that, he would’ve stayed at home. He didn’t know why he’d even bothered and now, now he was regretting it big time.
‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the fuck up and keep still.’ He bent down again, snorting another line off the hooker’s stomach whilst trying, then quickly giving up on remembering her name.
‘I ain’t going to lie here any longer, I’ve got to go to the bog. I’ll bleedin’ piss meself otherwise.’
Whining and pulling a face she began to wriggle, spilling the coke down the side of her scrawny tattooed hip.
Johnny gnawed down on his lip. That was it. The final straw. Not only did this silly cow think it was okay to waste some decent blow, but she was now beginning to spoil his high.
Leaping towards her and pushing his hands down hard against her throat, Johnny’s eyes bulged with rage.
‘And I ain’t going to pay for some bleedin’ crackhead like you to have a piss in my bathroom, so if you wanna …’
‘Boss?’
The door to the portacabin was flung open. Johnny scowled. ‘Fuck me, what happened to knocking? Give a man a chance to put his cock away.’
Big Billy Baldwin, who stood no taller than five feet, grinned at Johnny. ‘Sorry boss, but he’s here. Ma told me to bring him straight to you. She said you’d know what to do. She also said “enjoy!”’
Tucking his penis back in his trousers, Johnny wiped his nose and nodded. ‘Fine, bring him in … oh, and get her out of here.’
Happy to oblige, Billy stepped forward, grabbing hold and dragging the naked woman off the table.
‘That hurt! Get off me! Oi! Who d’ya think yer manhandling? And what about me bleedin’ money? I need me clothes! I’ve a mind to—’
The cabin door shut, muting the rest of her words.
Straightening himself up, Johnny rubbed his chin, feeling the coarse dark stubble, a throwback to his Romany genes. Sighing, he swept back his black hair as he leant forward on his chair, moodily spinning round the well-used cosh which sat in front of him on the desk.
He hadn’t had the best of days; he’d heard a few things through the Essex grapevine which hadn’t made him very happy. In fact, they’d positively pissed him off.
Ma had told him his wife, Bree, was acting suspiciously again, no doubt planning, thinking about leaving him as she so often did. But of course, that was just never going to happen. No one left him … ever. And if the stupid mare dared or thought she could just get up and go with the kids, then she really was braver than most men he knew.
But he’d sort it. He always did when she decided to step out of line. Though it always surprised him that she still hadn’t learnt the lesson by now; she was his, and she was going nowhere. Yet even with all he’d taught her, every few months she’d get a bee in her bonnet about how she was going to leave, and every few months Ma would tell him about it. And then, well, he just sorted it the best way he knew how.
Rolling a spliff, Johnny thought about the other piece of information he’d heard today. The information which Ron the runt – who was not only one of the biggest grasses between Essex and John o’ Groats, but also one of the biggest liars – had delighted in telling him.
‘It’s true Johnny, I swear it is. I swear. I wouldn’t lie to you. I was told by one of me sources.’
Johnny had stared at him in disbelief, but even when Billy – who’d been branding one of the horses at the time – had held a red-hot, glowing horseshoe inches away from Ron’s face, the runt had sworn that his information was true. That now Reginald Reynolds, the kingpin of Essex, was dead, Vaughn Sadler and Alfie Jennings, two legendary faces of Soho, had decided to come back home. Home to Essex to set up shop and take the crown.
And if Ron was right? Well bollocks to that. There was simply no way he was about to let that happen. No bleedin’ way at all.
On top of all that, he was now going to have to deal with Shane, one of his employees who thought it was okay to do a moonlight fucking flit and go and work somewhere else. So, before he could relax, and get on with the rest of his night, he was going to have to teach Shane a lesson. Then hopefully, things could finally get back to normal.
The door opened.
‘Hello, Shane. Glad you could make it. Come on in.’ Johnny cracked his knuckles, smiling as the tall, lanky young man was brought in by Billy.
Rubbing a bit of coke on his gums, Johnny’s crystal-blue eyes stared coldly. ‘Have I or have I not done a lot for you?’
Shane Hanlan mumbled, gazing down at the chipped, grey vinyl floor. ‘Yes, boss … yes.’
Amusing himself, Johnny tapped the cosh on the palm of his hand, winking at Billy as he leaned towards a trembling, blanching Shane. ‘I can’t hear you. Speak up, son.’
‘Yes, boss! Yes!’
‘That’s better. Now I need to ask you a question … Do you think I’m stupid?’
Shane’s head shot up, his eyes darted around the room as his words rushed out. ‘No, of course not! No way.’
‘No? Then why? Why after all that me and Ma have done for you, do you do this? We train you up. Give you a job. Even welcome you into our home. For what, though? So you can throw it all back in me face and go and leave me?’
‘I was going to come back. Straight up I was. Johnny, you got to believe me.’
Johnny Dwyer exploded. His handsome face turning red. He opened his mouth and bellowed as the veins in the side of his head swelled and pulsated. ‘Do I look like I have mug written all over me forehead? Well, do I?’
With his whole body shaking, Shane could just about tremble out a ‘No’.
‘No, that’s right. But you son, you have disloyalty written right through you, so much so it’s coming out of your fucking arse. And now you’ve given me no option. I got to teach you a lesson, and it breaks me heart to do so. But what choice did you give me, hey? You should never have tried to leave.’
He paused for a moment before whispering into Shane’s ear. ‘I already told ya, nobody leaves Johnny.’
Pulling back from him, Johnny Dwyer’s eyes filled with tears. He lifted the cosh in the air, staring compassionately at Shane. He smiled warmly, speaking softly.
‘I’m sorry, son. I really am.’
The cosh came whistling down, cracking and splitting Shane’s nose in one blow, tearing the skin apart on his eyelids. The blood splattered and poured all over the portacabin walls and floor, and as Johnny brought the cosh down time and time again, Shane Hanlan dropped to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony whilst begging for his life.
Ten minutes later, covered in blood, Johnny Dwyer sat on the floor exhausted, cradling Shane in his arms.
‘That’s it son, it’s over now. Don’t you worry about a thing. You hear me? No need to cry.’
A rasping sound bubbled from Shane’s mouth, his face swollen into an unrecognisable pulp.
‘We’ll get you cleaned up and then everything can get back to normal. And I’m really glad you’re back, son. I thought it was time for my boy to come back to me. You’d been gone long enough. But next time, just remember, nobody ever leaves me … ever.’
As Johnny bent down to kiss Shane on his forehead, a sound of screeching tyres and blaring horns came from outside the portacabin.
Leaping up, Johnny ran out. ‘What the …’
‘Get down, boss! Get down!’ Billy yelled as he dived on the floor and gunfire shots came hard and fast, cracking and speeding through the air, ricocheting off oil cans and scrap metal, and bouncing off skips in the yard.
Sprinting across in front of the portacabins, Johnny threw himself behind the pile of crashed racing cars, frantically scrambling to get to one of the numerous guns which were hidden around the yard.
‘Look out!’ Billy’s voice soared urgently through the air.
Spinning around, Johnny saw the dazzling lights of a speeding red car coming towards him. Desperately, he scrabbled along the hard, gravelled ground, waiting for the impact to hit. But instead the car came to a screeching halt, inches away.
Johnny could smell the heat from the engine. The bumper of the car almost in contact with his face. He was pinned against the wall and all he could do was watch whilst the driver of the car, dressed in a black balaclava, jumped out, rushing round to crouch down beside him.
‘Take this as a warning, Dwyer. Next time there won’t be another chance.’
Reversing at speed, the driver hurled a petrol bomb towards one of the barns, sending it up into a ball of yellow and orange flames. ‘You’ve been warned, Dwyer!’
Johnny silently watched the car drive off into the darkness. Tasting the hatred in his mouth.
‘Who do ya think it was, boss?’
Johnny’s face curled up into a snarl. ‘I don’t know, Billy, but when I find out, they’re going to be dead men.’
By the side of the old watermill on the River Bourne the red car pulled up, skidding to a halt in the darkness of the night. Pulling off his balaclava as he turned off the ignition, Alfie Jennings grinned at Vaughn. ‘Vaughnie, we’re back. We’re fucking back. Essex won’t know what’s hit them.’
TODAY (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
ESSEX
1 (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
Bree Dwyer chewed nervously on her fingers. She felt sick and was dog-tired having been up most of the night listening to every sound and jumping at every car light which came onto the site.
She glanced up at the large white, glittery-faced clock as she stood in the kitchen of her immaculate, newly decorated static mobile home which was situated just outside the village of Ashdon, close to Shadwell Wood.
She shared her home with her husband and little Molly and Kieran, and on the odd, miserable occasion, her mother-in-law, who only lived next door.
Sighing and taking a sip of orange juice out of an Arsenal mug, Bree tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry and too sticky, and her stomach kept alternating between painful cramps and butterflies.
She wasn’t ill, she knew that. Though she wished that was all it was. No, her problem was just down to good old-fashioned nerves. Because today was the day she was supposed to be leaving her husband, Johnny, once and for all.
A sudden wave of nausea rushed over her, forcing her to run to the bathroom and lean over the toilet bowl as the sweet sickly water rushed into her mouth. Starting to shake and praying it wasn’t the start of a panic attack, which she often suffered from. She took a deep breath, terrified at the thought of what she was about to do. A moment later, Bree Dwyer began to vomit.
Flushing the toilet, which was entirely encrusted with Swarovski crystals, Bree rinsed out her mouth, pushing her long blonde hair behind her ears. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, but quickly turned away. Hating what she saw. Hating seeing the look of fear in her green eyes, reminding her of a startled rabbit.
Holding onto the basin, Bree squeezed her eyes shut, took another deep breath before counting down from ten. Okay, she was ready. It was about to begin.
‘Molly! Kieran! Quickly! Come on babies, we got to go.’
A few seconds later, Molly, who’d just turned six and proudly told anybody who’d listen, appeared at the bathroom door, clutching one of her stuffed giraffes.
Her long corkscrew blonde hair tumbled down in waves over her tiny, little shoulders. She spoke, sounding like someone much older than her age.
‘What’s the rush? Where are we going? Are the others coming?’
Bending down to hurriedly button up Molly’s butterfly print blouse properly, Bree shook her head, speaking in a whisper as if there was somebody listening. ‘No, darlin’, they’re not.’
Molly scowled. Her button nose wrinkling up. ‘Why not? I want them to come.’
Nervously, Bree looked around. It seemed like her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, it was just about the only thing she could hear. ‘I know sweetheart, but if they do, then they’ll find out about the surprise.’
Molly’s face suddenly lit up. She called in excitement, ‘Kieran! Kieran! Come on, there’s a surprise.’
Panicked at the volume of her daughter’s voice, Bree gently shushed Molly, putting her finger over her lips. ‘Shhh! We got to try to keep quiet, darlin’. We don’t want anyone hearing us, do we?’
Smiling and kissing Molly on her forehead, Bree tried to push down the rising panic, attempting to ignore the thought she’d started something she couldn’t finish.
‘Well, what is it? What’s the surprise? Is it for me?’ Kieran Dwyer, although only nine, was the spitting image of his father. Both in temperament and looks. He stood at the bathroom door, grinning widely. He loved surprises.
‘No, sweetheart.’
Kieran folded his arms petulantly, reminding Bree so much of Johnny. ‘Then I ain’t going bleedin’ nowhere. Go on your own.’
Tenderly smoothing down his thick black hair, Bree looked sadly at Kieran. She loved him so much at times it ached, but with each passing day, Kieran was becoming more and more like Johnny. Idolising him and wanting to be just like his father when he ‘grew up’; another reason why she had to get them away before it was too late.
Patiently, Bree spoke, crouching down to Kieran’s height. ‘Okay, I tell you what, how about this. If you come with me now, I’ll buy you any game you want.’
Kieran’s blue eyes darkened as he stared suspiciously at Bree. ‘Any game?’
‘Any. I promise. But we have to go, now.’
‘Why?’
That was enough talk. Grabbing hold of both Kieran’s and Molly’s hands, Bree gently pulled the pair along the hallway. But as they neared the front door, it burst open and a tall figure, silhouetted against the bright sun, stood just inside the hallway.
‘Hello, darlin’. What’s all this then?’
Backing away, Bree clutched the children’s hands tightly as she began to shake.
‘Johnny … I … I …’
High-pitched laughter burst out as he clapped his hands, skipping on the spot. ‘Bree falls for it every time! Funny Bree. Funny Bree.’
Bree’s legs collapsed underneath her. ‘Ryan! You bleedin’ idiot. What you have to go and do that for?’
Ryan shrugged, looking hurt. His face crumpled as he held his head and rocked back and forth on the spot. ‘I found kittens. Nice, nice kittens. Have I done bad? Has Ryan done bad? In trouble with Ma? In trouble with Ma?’
Bree stared at Ryan Dwyer, Johnny’s identical twin brother. She tried to keep her voice even as she smiled at him kindly, trying to alleviate his panic. ‘Shhh, Ryan. It’s okay. You’re not in trouble. I promise. But we have to go. Come on, hurry.’
Molly piped up. ‘We’re going to get a surprise.’
Ryan’s eyes narrowed, looking troubled, his mind trying to comprehend. He stuttered.
‘Does … does … does Johnny know? Got to tell Johnny. We tell Johnny.’
Getting up, with her legs still trembling, Bree spoke soothingly. ‘Well it wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it, Ryan. Look, darlin’, we need to go. Come on Molly, hold my hand.’
Bree only managed to get part way down the stone white path before Ryan, who was dressed as usual in a blue Ralph Lauren tracksuit, stopped.
‘Wait! Need to tell Ma!’
Bree spun round, her face strained with fear. ‘No, Ryan, you don’t need to do that. Please. It’s just our secret. Remember? It will spoil the surprise.’
Ryan turned his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Bree. He rocked on his feet, looking anxious as he played with his hands. ‘No, need to tell Ma. Need to tell Ma. Ma! Ma!’
‘Please, Ryan, no! Don’t!’
‘Ma!’
The pink front door to the next mobile home was opened. ‘What the bleedin’ hell’s all that racket for?’
Ma Dwyer stood in a blue, silk cornflower print dressing gown, tied too tightly around her bulging waistline. She rested her arms on her hips as her grossly obese body wobbled towards Bree and Ryan; the top of her legs sounding noisily as they rubbed and squelched together with sweat.
With egg yolk dried on her chin, Ma Dwyer sniffed, then burped loudly. ‘This better bloody be good Ryan, otherwise I’ll be giving you another brain injury.’
Holding Ryan’s hand, Bree shook her head frantically. Her eyes wide with terror. ‘Ryan, no. Look at me, no!’
‘What she bleedin’ on about? Go on, tell yer ma.’
A moment of hesitation rushed through Ryan’s eyes before Ma Dwyer reached up and whacked her son hard around the head. ‘I’m talking to you, you little shit.’
Ryan rubbed his head, looking so much younger than his thirty years. ‘We shouldn’t tell you. Can’t tell Ma.’
Ma stared at Ryan. Her voice was mean and hard. ‘I’m warning you son, you better tell me, unless of course you want to be in trouble. Is that what you want, Ryan? You want to be in trouble?’
Agitated, Ryan looked down, playing with his hands as he shook his head. ‘No. No.’
‘Then tell me!’
Blurting the words out as quickly as he could, Ryan said, ‘She’s off to get Johnny a surprise. A secret.’
Ma Dwyer grinned nastily. ‘Is she now … Take the kids into the house, Ryan, I want a little word with Bree.’
‘But I want to see the kittens.’
‘I said take the friggin’ kids inside, you dopey muppet!’
Ma Dwyer watched as Ryan skipped into the house with Molly and Kieran, who were giggling happily. She turned coldly to Bree.
‘So now you can tell me all about this surprise, or maybe I should just call Johnny and ask him … Oh, no need … Look … Somebody’s going to be taught a lesson.’
As Ma cackled, Bree swivelled round to see Johnny’s black Range Rover coming up the drive. The next minute Bree started to run, listening to the sound of Ma Dwyer’s screeching voice behind her.
‘Johnny! Johnny! Quick, she went that way!’
Bree Dwyer had never run so fast in her life. She could hardly get her breath as she leapt and bounded through the thick undergrowth of Shadwell Wood, feeling the bushes and branches tearing at her flesh.
She could hear Johnny behind her as she raced through the woods. Faster and faster she went, stumbling down ditches, scrambling and falling as her shoe caught in the twisted shrubs. She slipped on the wet leaves and her nails scraped at the mud as she tried to get her footing, as she slid back down the hill.
She could taste her tears and her own fear and her chest began to tighten. She was too afraid to look behind her, but she knew Johnny was there. Closing in. Coming to get her.
‘Don’t run from me, Bree! There’s nowhere to go!’
Johnny’s voice seemed to engulf the whole of the area; echoing through the trees, echoing through the branches. Her legs were aching now, but she continued to run, her thin trousers covered in blood. She headed towards a small, gravelled track aiming for the copse on the other side.
‘Bree! Bree!’
She glanced back, then she heard a roar. A screech. The sudden slamming of brakes.
‘Look where you’re going, you dozy mare! I could’ve killed you.’
She spun round, feeling the car on her leg as she leant her hands on the hot bonnet. Panting.
Blinking.
Staring at the driver. A moment of slight recognition passed between them before Bree began to run.
‘Hey, come back! You alright, love?’
Limping, she leant against a tree, trying to get her breath. She had no idea where she was, and even though the woods were close to where she lived, she’d never ventured into them on her own.
Setting off again along an overgrown path, Bree heard the cracking of twigs but before she had time to turn around, heavy, rough hands grabbed her. She screamed as she was pulled down into the undergrowth. Feeling Johnny’s breath against her neck.
She froze as he sat behind her, putting his hands round her waist, drawing her in between his legs. Kissing her on her neck whilst stroking her hair.
He spoke quietly. A dangerous lull in his voice. ‘What did you think you were doing, Bree?’
Her words were breathless with fear. ‘Nothing.’
‘You was going to leave me, weren’t you?’
She shook her head quickly. ‘I wasn’t, I swear, Johnny.’
Slightly too hard, he nibbled the lobe of her ear, making Bree flinch. ‘I don’t believe you, baby.’
Bree shivered, feeling like she had a thousand ants crawling underneath her skin. ‘All I wanted to do was just take the kids out. I was going to get you a surprise.’
He shrieked into her ear, causing the nesting starlings to fly out of the trees and into the sky. ‘Liar!’
‘Please, Johnny.’
‘You know what I have to do now Bree, don’t you? I have to teach you a lesson.’
Bree couldn’t control her shaking, her body went into spasms, and she didn’t know if it was just the wet earth or if she’d wet herself in fear.
‘And why do I, Bree? Why do I have to teach you a lesson?’
Bree stayed silent as her whole body trembled.
‘I said, why do I? Say it! Say it, Bree!’
Crying and gasping for air, Bree Dwyer closed her eyes, only just managing to speak.
‘Because nobody ever leaves Johnny.’
2 (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
‘Wakey, wakey! Come on my handsome darlin’s, what’s all this? The day has started and you two pieces of lump are still in bed.’
Lola Harding cackled loudly as she energetically opened the curtains in the garishly decorated silver and velvet master bedroom of Janine Jennings’ large mansion just outside the straggling village of Wimbish in Essex.
‘Do me a favour! Bloody hell, Lola! Turn it in. Are you trying to kill me?’
‘No one died of a bit of sunshine, hey Janine?’
Leaning against the bedroom door, Janine Jennings sniffed as she bit into her fifth chocolate biscuit of the morning. ‘Don’t know why yer bothering, my husband has always been a lazy bastard.’
Alfie Jennings sat straight up. ‘Ex-husband.’
Janine guffawed with laughter. Her gold necklaces jangling with her. ‘You see, that’s the way to get him out of bed; remind him of our nuptials. Come on Vaughnie, take them covers off yer head. What’s wrong with you two? You asked me to wake you up.’
Alfie groaned. ‘Not this bloody early. And if I’d known me and Vaughnie had to share a bed when you said we could stay, I wouldn’t have bothered.’
Janine scowled. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers and anyway it’s only temporary, ain’t it?’ She paused before adding, ‘I thought you were supposed to be picking up Franny today.’
Alfie’s smile was tight as he tried not to let his anger overwhelm him as he thought of Franny. Franny Doyle, the woman he’d given his heart to. So strong, so beautiful, so clever, so fearless yet with a vulnerability which had made him fall in love with her, no matter how much he had tried to stop himself. But he had, and he’d fallen hard.
The daughter of one of the most notorious gangsters, he’d met Franny in Soho but after a while they’d decided to leave and go and live in Spain; there was nothing in the West End for them anymore. The place had changed beyond recognition. There was no more making money. Gangsters and faces had moved out. Tourists and foreigners, druggies and coffee shops had moved in. The council had clamped down, going into overdrive on any illegal activity, something they would’ve once turned a blind eye to or at least he could’ve paid them off. So, Spain had been their ideal.
He’d even given up the business for her after she’d become tired of seeing how many people it hurt. And he’d been happy to go semi-legitimate, or as happy as he could’ve been. But now, now was entirely different and happy certainly wasn’t a word which came to mind.
He stared at Janine and then at Vaughn. He shrugged, trying his best to sound unruffled.
‘There’s been a slight change of plan.’
Vaughn’s words shot out. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Look, calm down, nothing’s wrong. Franny’s on her way, she’s just been a bit delayed, that’s all.’
Incensed, Vaughn got out of bed, throwing the duvet in Alfie’s face. He walked across to the crushed velvet window seat and lit up a cigarette, inhaling it hard.
‘That’s all? She’s got two million quid of our money which, let me remind you, is all the money we’ve got in the world, and you expect me to be calm?’
Alfie got up from the mattress, pulling on his red sweat top over his muscular body, much to Lola’s dismay; albeit she was nearing seventy, she still had an admiring eye for a handsome man.
Then, lying through his teeth, Alfie said, ‘It’s just a little hiccup. Apparently when Franny got on the boat there were a lot of coast guards and police about at Puerto Banús and Puerto de la Bajadilla doing a routine sweep of all the private vessels, so she thought it was best to wait until everything’s quietened down before they set off. She knows what she’s doing.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Franny knows exactly what she’s doing.’
Alfie stared at Vaughn, hoping the anger he felt towards Franny didn’t show on his face. Hoping he didn’t give anything away. Not yet anyway.
When they’d left for Spain, both he and Vaughn – who he’d known since he was a teenager – had invested in property. Clubs and restaurants initially, then finally a resort just south of Torremolinos, but then – and maybe it was his own fault for not keeping an eye on the legitimate businesses as he had done the illegitimate ones – the developer had gone bankrupt before the place had been finished, heading off to Mexico with their money, leaving unpaid workers and contractors as well as him and Vaughn out of pocket. The bank had closed in and they’d been left with not much change from fuck all.
But just when they’d started to worry, Reginald Reynolds, Essex kingpin, number one face and an old trusted friend of them both, had got in contact wanting to sell his bookmaker business, which not only incorporated the best legal pitches at racetracks like Cheltenham and Newmarket, but also the monopoly on the systematic illegal betting market in the East of England. And of course, they’d jumped at the chance. It was not only the reason they’d been looking for to come back home to Essex, it was a licence to print money. And all for just two million big ones.
It was a deal that couldn’t be missed and once they’d shaken on it, Reggie had put the word around that he and Vaughn were going to be his successors when he retired, which not surprisingly hadn’t gone down well with a lot of people.
They hadn’t known at the time, but Reginald hadn’t been retiring but had been fighting cancer, and was just putting his affairs in order for his family before it was too late. Two weeks after the details had been sorted, his widow, Reenie had been in touch letting them know Reginald was dead.
Vaughn had sold his house and Alfie had sold his villa, getting the money they needed together. Obviously, the likes of Reggie and his family only dealt in cash and certainly no transfers through any bank, so it was decided that they would travel to England first and Franny would follow with the cash on the boat of an old associate of theirs, later. Easy. Or it was supposed to have been.
‘Fuck’s sake, what’s with all the paranoia? Just leave it, okay?’
Alfie turned around but felt Vaughn’s grip on his arm. ‘Listen, until I have me money in me hand, I ain’t going to leave anything. You hear me?’
‘Get yer hands off me.’ Alfie shoved Vaughn, who fell back into Lola, then, just managing to keep his balance, Vaughn sprang at Alfie, grabbing hold of his top. With his face red, he hissed his warning.
‘I’ve already lost nearly everything because you didn’t keep your eye on the ball with that developer, pretending everything was fine. So, I’m telling you now Alfie, if anything’s happened to me money, I’m going to hold you responsible. And I’ll come for you. You understand me?’
‘Don’t threaten me, Vaughn, unless you want to be a dead man walking.’
Scrabbling between them, Lola tried to pull the men apart. She appealed to Vaughn. ‘This is Franny we’re talking about. She ain’t going to rip you off, is she? None of this is Alfie’s fault. I know you’ve had it tough these last few months, but see sense, Vaughn.’
‘Have you forgotten that Franny is the daughter of Patrick Doyle, one of the biggest gangsters there was?’
‘No, but …’
‘But nothing Lola. The apple don’t fall far from the tree, does it?’
Lola, not enjoying hearing Vaughn saying anything negative about her friend, put her hands on her hips as she stood in front of him. ‘Vaughn Sadler, have you ever, in all the time that you’ve known Franny, had any reason not to trust her?’
‘No, but …’
‘But nothing, right back at you. If Franny says she’s been delayed, then she’s been delayed. It’s going to be fine.’
Vaughn, unable to help himself, snapped at Lola. ‘In less than a month’s time we are supposed to be finalising the deal with Reginald Reynolds’ widow to buy his pitches, pay off who needs to be paid off to get the bookies’ licences, as well as recruit and pay a trusted team of men that we can have around us. Tell me Lola, how the fuck are we supposed to do that now? More to the point, how are you expecting me to keep calm when some bird is floating round the Costa with two million big ones in her back pocket?’
‘Vaughn, love—’
‘No, Lola! Hear me out. Reginald did us a favour by putting us first in line for his business. Everybody wanted it, and you know that. Once we get it up and running – if we do – it’ll mean we won’t have to think about money again, but now, thanks to this muppet, there’s a chance we could lose this opportunity.’
Alfie glared at Vaughn. ‘Stop winding yourself up, mate. It’ll be fine.’
‘Will it? It better be, because I’ve risked everything on this. Sold everything I had right under me missus’ nose and because of that, she’s gone and left me. That money is all I’ve got.’
‘It ain’t only yours.’
‘No, but it wasn’t me who gave the money to Franny, was it?’
Alfie, always one to be hot headed, said, ‘Look, so she’s delayed, it’s no biggie. You’re acting like someone’s robbed your fucking grave. And as for Casey, maybe you should’ve been more honest with your missus, perhaps that way she might not have done a runner, or maybe it was just her excuse.’
Vaughn went to swing at Alfie but pulled back as Lola stepped in his way. She smiled at him, hating seeing them argue. ‘Vaughn, lovie, please. Alf’s right, you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing. Franny will be here soon, and as for Casey, she’ll come round and see sense. Once she understands you did it for your future, she’ll be fine about it. I’ll have a word with her if it helps. Look, how about instead of all this arguing, which ain’t going to do any of us any good, why don’t I make you all some breakfast?’
The resounding cry of ‘no’ was heard round the room as everyone present remembered the days of Lola’s café, which she’d run in Soho for years. Her breakfasts had been infamous.
Lola shrugged. ‘Then at least kiss and make up. Come on, Vaughn. Alf, how about you?’
Neither of the men moved and Lola sighed. She’d known and loved Alfie and Vaughn for as long as she could remember, meeting them in Soho back in the day. In all that time she’d never known the two men have so few options, but then, they may never have come back to England otherwise. She hid a small smile. Every cloud.
Vaughn, ignoring Lola’s plea for reconciliation, spoke to Alfie, his voice full of hostility.
‘And what are we supposed to do for money until Franny comes? What are we supposed to tell Reginald’s widow?’
‘We tell her nothing because there’s nothing to tell. And in the meantime, we stick to our plan. We let everybody know we’re back and we mean business. Essex is ours for the taking.’
‘Just the two of us?’
‘Yeah, because they won’t know that, will they. We give it large like we always did. And in a couple of days Franny will be here, and then we’ll have the money to recruit some of the people who used to work for us. It’ll be sweet.’
Vaughn looked at Alfie. ‘Okay, but I’m telling you, Franny needs to be here by the end of the week.’
Janine, who’d been unusually quiet, piped up. ‘And you’ve got here. You can both stay here with me.’
‘See, there’s an offer no man can resist.’ As he said it, Alfie rolled his eyes causing Janine to let out a screech.
‘I saw that! Did you see that, Lola? Bleedin’ fucking cheek. I don’t know why I bother. You should be thanking me, Alfie. You should be grateful.’
‘Grateful! I’d be more grateful to an arse full of piles.’
Seething, Janine turned to Lola. ‘I knew this was a bad idea. I should never have listened to you. I’m a mug. That’s what me mates said when I told them I was going to let you stay. They said, Janine. You. Are. A. Mug.’
Lola pushed Janine and Vaughn gently out of the door. She smiled at Alfie. ‘Why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs for a nice cup of tea.’
‘Thanks Lola, I’ll be there in a minute.’
‘And Alfie, it’s good to have you back … I missed ya. Both of ya.’
Hearing the others heading downstairs, Alfie pulled out his phone. He stared at the text from Franny.
Please don’t be angry Alfie, but something’s come up. It’s probably better if you don’t know what. But trust me when I say, I wish it could be different. I won’t be coming to England. One day you’ll understand why I’ve done this. If it’s any consolation, I do love you. F.
Dialling Franny’s number, it switched straight onto voicemail. Speaking quietly Alfie hissed through his teeth. ‘Franny, it’s me. You better start picking up the fucking phone, you hear me? Just pick up the fucking phone. I want my money.’
He clicked off the call before hurling the phone against the wall, wondering which was greater, his broken heart or his anger.
3 (#uf6aad5b6-c504-5a58-a3ad-bb19143a8fdc)
Stepping out of his silver Audi Q5, which had seen better days, Eddie Styler lit a cigarette, admiring as he always did the mock-Tudor cladding he’d had fitted last year on the large, five-bedroom property on the private gated estate, just south of Emerson Park, Essex.
The place was a far cry from the run-down council block in South London he’d been born and brought up in, where drug addicts shot up on stairwells and anyone passing who cared to used the lobby as a giant urinal.
Unlike his childhood home, which he’d been ashamed of, number 25 Colney Close impressed, making him the envy of his family, most of whom still resided in the same shit hole they were born in and no doubt would be carried out in a box from.
It’d been the double garage feature of the house which had excited him, and within minutes of seeing the place, he’d put in an offer, well over the asking price, much to his wife, Sandra’s disgust. But then, when wasn’t the moany cow disgusted at him for one thing or another? And God, didn’t she just like to remind him how it was her money and not his that had bought the place.
But they were married, so by rights that made it his whether she liked it or not. To have and to hold. For richer, for poorer. His home. His castle.
Irritated at the thought of her, Eddie gritted his teeth too hard, causing the white filling that’d cost him near on three hundred quid last week, start to throb, making his present mood considerably worse.
Stomping towards the house and having inhaled deeply on the cigarette, which made his green eyes water, Eddie opened the front door, being hit immediately by the nauseating smell of Sandra’s constantly burning vanilla and honeysuckle scented candle, causing his eyes to water some more.
He clenched his fists feeling the stress catapult through him. How long he’d resented Sandra he didn’t know. Maybe it was the moment he’d said ‘I do’ and had lifted her wedding veil to see her dark, cold beady eyes staring at him as she chewed down on a piece of gum. But no matter when it was, Eddie knew he resented her now … hated the stupid cow now.
They’d made an odd-looking couple; her at six foot three – all pale skin and jutting bones – and him, barely five foot tall of rounded Greek heritage. But it hadn’t mattered, because money had been the reason he’d got together with her in the first place, desperate to escape the poverty of his life, and Sandra, with her flashy car and expensive shoes, had been his ticket out. Well, that’s what he’d thought she was. But rather than having money at his fingertips as he’d imagined, she’d held onto her bank accounts tightly like they were a life raft.
Despite her, over the years he’d tried to make a name for himself, wheeling and dealing, using old contacts and being the middle- man for the Mr Bigs, but each time he’d thought he was making a reputation, each time he could smell success, each time he thought he could finally leave Sandra, someone or something came along to squeeze the balls out of whatever deal he was trying to make and he’d be left with nothing at all.
But a few years ago, things had started to look up. He’d got the call from Reginald Reynolds, the number one face in Essex, who made the Kray twins look like something out of a children’s storybook. And he’d worked hard for Reginald. Becoming his right-hand man. Setting up the beatings, the tortures, the paybacks, the deals, and with Reginald Reynolds’ men behind him, his own name had become synonymous with fear. There wasn’t a man alive who’d say no to him. He could run up debts at casinos, debts with pimps, he had money at his fingertips. That was, of course, before Reginald Reynolds had popped his clogs at a very inconvenient time.
At first though, he’d been pleased that Reginald had finally snuffed it, assuming he was going to take the Essex crown. But after discovering from Reggie’s widow, Reenie, that rather than him – after all his loyalty – being the natural successor to his empire, he’d arranged that the scumbags, Alfie Jennings and Vaughn Sadler, were going to take over, he’d gone to the cemetery in Chigwell and pissed on Reginald’s grave.
But there was one thing that Reginald hadn’t managed to finalise before he’d died. A deal which only he really knew about. And once he’d pulled it off, things were going to be different. What he had lined up would change everything and no one was going to mess this up. And unlike all the other times, there was no question he wasn’t going to pull it off. Because everything was riding on it. Everything.
Even though Reginald had left some outstanding money to pay on the goods, thankfully he was able to find some cash himself by forging Sandra’s name on a remortgage application, getting the readies transferred into a bank account she didn’t know about, which had given him enough to finalise the deal of all deals, and all without any of Reggie’s men or family knowing about it. And the beautiful thing was, even if Sandra did eventually find out about the loan, it wouldn’t matter because they’d literally be rolling in it. Or rather he would. And then? Well then, it’d be adios Sandra.
Tiptoeing along the dark, oak wooden hallway to the cupboard under the stairs, he glanced up towards the bedroom, pausing and checking for any sound. He opened the stair cupboard door, quickly rummaging in the large box of tools he never used, and pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey. The screw top couldn’t come off fast enough for Eddie and he knocked it back in one; wincing at the burn.
Content and preoccupied in his thoughts, Eddie absentmindedly stepped backwards, knocking over one of Sandra’s glass candle holders, shattering shards of glass all over the dark wooden floor.
‘Bollocks!’
Sighing and feeling the effect of the alcohol, Eddie heard Sandra, her voice grating through the silence of the darkness.
‘Eddie, is that you? What time is it? Eddie! What the bleedin’ hell are you doing?’
Walking up the stairs, Eddie thought it best to knock a couple of hours off, knowing that his wife would start to complain and ask a dozen questions about where he’d been if she knew the real time.
Gritting his teeth, he gave a saccharine reply. ‘It’s one o’clock, teddy bear. Go back to sleep.’
Immediately, the bedside light flicked on, and Sandra, sleepy eyed and messy haired, stared at him accusingly. ‘How the fuck am I supposed to sleep when you’re banging about like a brass band?’
Knowing it was best not to reply, Eddie undressed and slipped into bed, feeling the cold as if the sheets were made of a thin layer of ice. He shivered as he lay on the very edge of the super king size bed, which was mostly taken up by Sandra and all her cushions.
‘Is Barrie in okay?’
In no mood to go on an early morning hunt for the cat he hated – who perpetually seemed to have a supercilious smugness on his face – and having seen him wandering down the street yesterday morning and not since, Eddie answered casually, pushing down the sense of loathing towards Sandra that immersed his whole being.
‘He’s curled up on the sofa …’
‘Have you been drinking?’
Too quickly, Eddie shook his head and answered, ‘No.’
For the next few minutes Sandra continued to stare, looking for a giveaway tell-tale sign as Eddie Styler smiled reassuringly at his wife, trying to push down his hatred, thinking as he so often did how like her brother, Alfie Jennings, she looked.
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