‘Shut it!’ And with that, Ma Dwyer marched out of the room.
Giving a last, cutting glance to Bree, Johnny headed for the door whilst snarling instructions to his brother. ‘Make sure she don’t go anywhere, Ryan. You understand me?’
And not waiting for an answer, Johnny hurried away.
Ryan, spectacularly identical to Johnny, looked at Bree. She smiled at him tenderly as he touched her bruised, swollen face. His damaged brain trying to understand.
‘Johnny’s angry with Bree. You should never leave Johnny. Trouble. Ma says there’ll be trouble.’
‘I know, sweetheart, I know.’
Bree went to the door, looking down the hall before closing it quietly. Pressing her body against it, she turned back to look at Ryan, her eyes filled with tears.
‘But one day Ryan, we will. We’ll leave here for good, and you’ll be free, and then sweetheart, we’ll have no more trouble.’
It was dark and the private traveller site was quiet apart from the sound of the dog barking on Willoughby’s farm, some way off in the distance. As Kieran sat under the bushes – a place where he often slept – watching Ma Dwyer waddle down the path in her silk dressing gown, forcefully sniffing the white bottled, nasal plastic pump spray she always carried, he dug his fingers into his leg; drawing blood, feeling the pain and enjoying it.
The steel blade he held in his other hand caught the light of the moon. He smirked, glimpsing the reflection of his mouth, then, quietly humming, Kieran Dwyer began to cut.
‘Pick up, for God’s sake! I don’t know how many bleedin’ messages I’ve left but you can’t keep ignoring me. For fuck’s sake Franny, why are you doing this to me, darlin’? Just call me and let’s sort this out. I get that you could be mad at me. Maybe I didn’t give you as much attention as I should’ve done, or maybe you think I don’t tell you that I love you enough. But I do love ya, from the minute I knew ya, I started falling for ya. But Jesus, Fran, whatever it is I’ve done, don’t take it out on our future. Vaughn’s future. You want me to come and find you, Franny? Is that what you want, darlin’? To show you I care? Cos I do, but I just haven’t got time for these fucking games at the moment! Franny!’
Alfie took the phone away from his mouth, taking in deep breaths of air to calm himself down. He tried again. ‘Look baby, I know you’ll get these messages so please, just call me. I need to get me hands on the money. Sort this deal out with Reenie Reynolds before it goes tits up. I’m trying to be patient here girl, but you won’t answer any of me calls, so what am I supposed to do? I feel like a muppet talking to this machine so for fuck’s sake, talk to me! Yes, I’ve made mistakes, probably lots, but surely it can’t be two million pounds’ worth of mistakes! Franny! You do realise if you were anyone else, I’d hunt you down and put a bullet in your fucking head … but I can’t do that can I? Cos I love ya. I fucking love ya … Franny!’ He shouted down the phone before slamming it hard on the white kitchen table.
‘Alfie?’
He turned, startled. ‘Lola, I never saw you.’
She looked at him strangely. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’
Lola came to sit down next to him and took his hand gently. ‘Don’t give me that darlin’, I spent half me life playing people, so I know when someone’s telling me a Jackanory.’
‘Look, it’s okay.’
‘It ain’t, is it, though? You look like you haven’t had any kip and you probably haven’t eaten either. Here, have some of this.’ Lola picked up the jug of porridge, pouring it into one of the breakfast bowls on the table. It slopped heavily in.
‘Eat up, love.’
Alfie Jennings knew there were some things in life he couldn’t do; hurting a kid, mugging a person, knocking his missus about, to name but a few. And now as he stared at the lumpy, water-logged, powder-clogged porridge, eating it was one more thing to add to the list of the things he could never do.
‘Come on Alf, eat up or you’ll be a bag of bones.’
Alfie raised his eyebrows at Lola. He gave her a crooked smile. ‘More like I’ll be a bag of bones if I eat it. I’ll be bleedin’ six foot under. The state of it, girl.’
Lola Harding, an ex-Tom turned café owner who meant the world to Alfie, cackled heartily; happier than she’d been for a long time.
Feeling the varicose veins in her legs begin to throb, her expression became serious.
‘What’s going on, Alf? What’s happening with Franny? You missing her, is that it?’
He didn’t want to talk about Franny, mainly because it hurt, but it hurt more knowing he didn’t know why she was doing this or maybe he did.
Franny had been good for him. She’d made him grow up. Taking none of his bullshit or his womanising ways and he’d liked it. He’d liked the fact that when they’d got to Spain he’d slowed down and no longer had to look over his shoulder, but after a while, slowing down felt like a death sentence. A long, slow, agonising one and maybe she’d known that.
He’d tried to fight it. He really had. Tried to ignore the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. But no matter how much he’d tried to be what Franny had wanted him to be, he just couldn’t do it. How could he? After all, he was Alfie Jennings, the boy from the East End, where poverty had lingered in the air and a black eye came quicker than a cup of tea. The boy who’d spent much of his childhood waiting outside the various brothels in Soho for his alcoholic, bullying father to cop off with the endless toothless Toms. The boy whose friends were the pimps, gangsters, bouncers and club owners of Soho. The boy whose brother, Connor, had died on a robbery gone wrong. And the boy who’d wept as he’d held his dead mother’s hand all night when he’d found her in the outhouse, covered in blood, still clutching the shears she’d stabbed herself with after life had become too much. And it was those moments that had made the boy become a man.
He’d become driven, determined and ruthless. Deciding life owed him but he didn’t owe anything to life. He hadn’t cared who he’d hurt; eliminating anyone who’d got in the way of him achieving his goal – to become one of the untouchables. A face. Someone no one could hurt again.
And that’s how he’d lived, and he’d been happy. But then he’d met Franny and all that changed. He’d done what he vowed he’d never do. He’d fallen in love. Given it all up and moved away.
It was perfect, or it had been until happy became restless, so when Reggie Reynolds had got in touch he’d jumped at it, arranging to come back to England to get back in the game as soon as he could. He loved the life he was born into. It was part of who he was. But in all that time, he realised he’d never asked Franny how she felt. Never asked her if it was okay with her if they came back. So maybe, just maybe, this was her way of payback. Two million pounds’ worth of payback. Oh yes, Franny Doyle had a lot to answer for.
Angry at the thought of her, he clenched his fist, before leaning in to kiss Lola on her cheek. ‘I’m where I need to be, but I need to tell you something about the money, and you need to swear you won’t tell the others.’
Surrounded by marshes and wide-open wheat fields near the grassy sea wall just outside Bradwell on the Dengie Peninsula of East Essex, Eddie Styler spat the last bit of curried chicken out of the car window, landing it at the feet of Johnny and Ma Dwyer.
He