Dave weighed up Terry’s ideas. Johnny’s pub was live-lier, but Max was a gearhead. ‘Let’s go and see Max, eh, Tel?’
Terry grinned to himself as he restarted the engine; he could read old Davey Boy like an open book!
Maxie Allen was holding a private party for his friends and family. He was over the moon when Terry and Dave walked in unexpectedly. The three of them went back years and it was only because Max hated Terry’s fat drunken wife that he hadn’t sent them an invitation in the first place. The fact they’d turned up on their lonesome suited Max down to the ground.
After spending the evening being treated like royalty, knocking back champagne and shoving gear up his hooter, Terry was now bored shitless and wanted to leave. Maxie Allen he loved to death, he really did. He had a great deal of time and respect for the man. It’s a shame the same couldn’t be said for Maxie’s friends, who in Terry’s eyes were the biggest bunch of wankers he’d ever come across. Real villains never boasted about their wealth or who they knew; plastic gangsters were the opposite. After being lumbered for twenty minutes with some penis who’d been rambling on about being related to the Krays, Terry had now had a gutful of it. He was fed up, agitated and was kicking himself for not going up the East End. Terry loved the pub in Stepney. It was full of proper people with proper stories. In fact, it was the complete opposite of the hellhole he was currently stuck in.
Excusing himself from Mr Kray’s so-called cousin, Terry spotted Dave at the bar, mauling some ginger-haired rough old sort. He immediately walked over to his friend and slapped him on the back. Dave released his tongue from the minger’s throat and turned towards him. ‘You all right, Tel? Good night, innit?’
‘I’m knackered, Dave. I’m leaving in a minute. Do you wanna come with me or are you staying here?’
Dave looked at the bird standing next to him. Black miniskirt, tattoos on her arm and back, she looked like something off the Jerry Springer Show. She was rough, but bang up for it and that’s all that mattered. The gear made Dave feel horny and he was determined to shag someone’s brains out tonight. He’d had a shit Christmas Day, which was all Lisa’s fault, and he was desperate for some fun.
‘I think I’m gonna stay here, Tel. I’ll give you a bell tomorrow.’
Terry glanced at his watch and saw it was half past twelve. Surely if he left now he wouldn’t have to walk into a remake of One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Chelle might still be up, but the rest of the nutters should be in bed by now.
Terry hugged Maxie, thanked him for a good night and walked outside to his Range Rover. Starting the engine, he opened the windows and appreciated the bitter cold air. It had been a shit Christmas, probably his worst one ever. Jade he missed something chronic, much more than he thought he would, and although he’d spoken to her for ages on the phone, it just wasn’t the same as having her nearby. He was so used to seeing her every day, she was always at his beck and call and he realised he’d become far more attached to her than to any woman from his past. He wished he had never suggested she visit her parents, as he was struggling to enjoy himself without her.
Sorting through his CD collection, he chose a country and western compilation for the journey home. Terry was a big country music fan and his daughter had been named after Billie Jo Spears. He’d wanted to call her Tammy or Dolly after Wynette or Parton but Chelle hadn’t liked either name, so they’d agreed on Billie Jo. Terry wanted to talk to Jade more than anything else in the world, but decided against calling her. To ring her at one in the morning would be taking the piss. She was bound to be asleep and he didn’t want to wake up Tubbs and Crockett. Texting and Terry didn’t really go together but he decided to have a bash. It took him ten minutes to punch out a message which read:
‘I miss you so much, Jade. Don’t stay the whole week, I’m lost without you. Ring me in the morning and I’ll arrange to pick you up. Night, babe, love you.’
Cranking up the volume, Terry joined in with Patsy Cline’s ‘I Fall to Pieces’ and began his journey home.
Approximately twenty miles away, Sonny Ryan and Freddie Boy Smith had been out drinking all day and all night. Seventeen and nineteen years old respectively, they were novices of life but thought they knew it all. Travelling boys through and through, they were roofers by day and naughty boys by night. After playing pool all day at a pub in Woodford, the boys had happened to overhear of a twenty-first birthday party being held in a nearby hall. Deciding to gatecrash the event, they were now knocking back the free drink at the bar and doing their best to impress the two little birds that were standing by their side looking at them adoringly. Realising that their luck was in, Sonny pulled Freddie to one side.
‘We’re in here, Freddie. The bar’s gonna shut in a minute, where we gonna take ’em?’
‘Let’s go up to Sammy’s place, eh?’
Sonny looked at him and smiled. ‘Good idea. I’m teaching you well, Freddie Boy. We’ll have to use the van again though.’
‘I’m sure we’ll be OK. The gavvers are so busy this time of year, they ain’t going to be looking for no hooky van.’
Sonny and Freddie had been drinking in Romford on Christmas Eve and had tried to hail a cab to take them home. They had no intention of paying the fare of course, doing a runner was second nature to them. Unfortunately for them, their plan was doomed to fail. As soon as the cabs had pulled up and heard their pikey accent, they accelerated at top speed. The boys lived on a site in Hainault and it was too far to walk, so running out of options, they chored a red Escort van and drove themselves home. They’d dumped the van away from their site but retrieved it again this morning to go out for the day. They owned a motor of their own, a pick-up truck, but with the ladders on the back it was too tuggable. They only used it for work as it was neither taxed nor insured.
‘Are you ready then, girls?’
Leanne and Lucy were drunk but up for an adventure. Typical sixteen-year-olds, Leanne had told her mum she was staying at Lucy’s house and vice versa. Neither mum had bothered to check their story. Both girls were virgins, led extremely boring lives and after a brief discussion in the toilets, they decided to take a chance and go for a drive with the two handsome lads that they’d met. Neither girl realised the boys were gypsies. They’d never met any before and wouldn’t have known a pikey if they had fallen out the sky and smacked them on the head. They knew the boys had a funny accent, but surmised they came from up north or something. Leanne stood with her hand on her hip looking at Sonny and Freddie.
‘Look, we’ll come for a drive with you, but don’t try nothing on ’cause we’re not like that. We’re decent girls and we won’t stay out all night, so you’ll have to drop us back home later.’
Both girls lived in Collier Row and were staying at their friend Kelly’s. She had an open house for a week as her parents had gone away. Kelly had been with them earlier, but had been sick and gone home early. Climbing into the back of the Escort van was a feat on its own. The girls felt woozy, but were filled with excitement.
Obeying his cousin’s orders to drive the van, Freddie put his foot down and headed towards his Uncle Sammy’s place. Sammy had a disused trailer on a site near Harold Hill. The boys had their own key and regularly took birds back there.
‘You’re driving like a prick, Freddie Boy, drive faster.’
The girls in the back squealed excitedly, egging him on. Freddie was as thick as pigshit and just did as he was told. Sonny took a wad of money out of his pocket.
‘Let’s have a little bet, Freddie Boy. I’ll give you fifty quid if you aim straight at the next motor that comes towards you.’
Freddie saw a red Mondeo heading his way and did as he was asked. He was frightened of his cousin Sonny, who was an out-and-out lunatic. He also had a very bad temper and Freddie didn’t dare disobey