Blood Sisters: Can a pledge made for life endure beyond death?. Julie Shaw

his depth with all this, and for about the tenth time that day he contemplated, and only just shy of hysterically, the merits of blowing what little he’d saved up, getting a flight to Karachi and going in search of one of the many elderly relatives he had there; the ones that lived in the middle of nowhere, far from civilisation – and danger – and eked out the sort of living his parents had come to Bradford to escape from.

      Oh, if only. Because it was all getting just a little bit too real. While he just dealt with Paddy, it was largely okay; he could easily convince himself he was just doing stuff for an old school mate. Yes, illegal, but still just doing a bit of what loads of other people did – earning a bit of cash to help him on his way. But the reality he was forced to face now was very different. Rasta Mo was a seriously dangerous man. Everyone knew that. He had literally got away with murder, and on more than one occasion. Two dealers in the last ten years had been bludgeoned to death for trying to rob him, and though the police had been convinced that Mo had been responsible – everyone knew that as well – they had never found any evidence to put him on trial for it, and never once been able to break any of his alibis.

      He could only hope that tonight he would be meeting Irish Pete. That Mo would have other, more important things to do. Pete was fine; just a big, friendly bear of an Irishman, with nice twinkly eyes and an equivalently twinkly smile. Far better to deal with than the intimidating Rastafarian, even if he knew deep down that Irish Pete, if crossed, would crush your balls between his hairy fists just as readily.

      He needed a drink, he decided. One with a little more clout than the pint of lemonade he’d opted for as a nod to the time of day. He left it on the bench, all too aware of how everyone lowered their eyes as he passed them on his way to the bar.