Life of Crime: The gripping, epic new thriller from the No 1 bestseller

‘Yeah, sure,’ Melissa replied. Watching Jason wander over to the toy stall with Donte in his arms, she turned to Tracey. ‘Time you tried some shoes on – I’m not trying on any more, specially since I can’t afford to buy a pair. Did you find out where he lives?’

‘No. But he’s only twenty and drinks at some pub called the Brewery Tap in Barking on Friday nights. He said they have live music in there. We should go down there next week. Can you ask your mum to babysit?’

Jason returned with Donte holding the toy dog before Melissa had a chance to reply. ‘Put that back, Donte. It doesn’t belong to you,’ Melissa ordered.

‘It does now. My treat.’ Jason winked.

‘Oh no. I can’t let you pay for that. Here, I’ll give you the money,’ Melissa replied, fishing frantically through her handbag for her purse. She hoped she had enough cash on her to cover the cost.

‘No, you won’t. Listen, Trev on the toy stall owes me plenty of favours, trust me,’ Jason insisted.

‘Erm, can I try on these black boots in a size four, please?’ Tracey asked, pointing to a high-heeled suede ankle boot. She couldn’t understand Jason’s obsession with Donte. It was odd, to say the least. ‘Don’t move, Mel. I need to hold on to you,’ Tracey ordered, lifting up her left leg to undo the strap on her sandal.

Aware of Jason’s blue eyes staring at her, Melissa blushed again.

‘I’ve got a little ’un myself. A four-year-old daughter,’ Jason blurted out.

To say Tracey was shocked by this piece of news was an understatement. She promptly lost her balance, toppling over sideways.

‘You all right, mate?’ Melissa asked, voice full of concern. Part of her wanted to laugh, but she knew how mortified Tracey must be, so held her emotions in check.

Feeling a complete idiot, Tracey quickly put her sandal back on and grabbed Mel’s arm. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

‘Don’t you wanna try the boots on now?’ Jason smirked. Trev on the toy stall was pissing himself laughing and he was desperately trying not to do the same himself.

‘No. I’ll try them another time,’ Tracey snapped, hobbling off. She’d felt her ankle twist as she’d fallen and it was already throbbing.

‘Thanks again for the toy,’ Melissa said, walking away.

‘Come on, Mel,’ Tracey urged, red-faced. The quicker she got away from this market, the better.

‘Mel, you forgot something,’ Jason shouted after them.

Leaving Donte’s pushchair with Tracey, Melissa ran back to the stall. Jason handed her a piece of paper. ‘That’s my phone number. If you fancy a drink sometime, give us a bell.’

Melissa opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak. No words would come out.

‘Mel, come on,’ Tracey shouted angrily.

Melissa took one last look at Jason, then ran to catch up with her pal.

‘What did he want?’ Tracey demanded.

‘Nothing.’

‘Don’t lie to me. I saw him hand you something. Did he give you his number for me?’

‘No, Trace. Look, I’m sorry, but he gave me his number for me.’

Tracey stared at her friend as though she had gone stark raving mad. This wasn’t going to plan at all. ‘What did he actually say when he gave it to you? You sure he never meant it for me?’

Melissa felt flushed. ‘He said if I fancied going for a drink, I was to call him.’

Tracey was in shock. ‘You’re not going, are you?’

Mel shook her head. ‘Course not. You like him.’

The short journey back to South Hornchurch was awkward, to say the least. Tracey was in no mood for small talk. She was fucking fuming.

CHAPTER TWO

The lifts stank of urine, were covered in graffiti and, as usual, there was a sign on the door saying they were out of order.

‘Bollocks,’ Jason mumbled. He lived on the tenth floor and had boxes to carry.

The stairs too were daubed in graffiti and reeked of urine, but nevertheless Jason whistled chirpily as he lugged the boxes of knocked-off perfume up ten flights. No way could he leave any downstairs. They’d be thieved within seconds. The type of tower block he lived in, even the door knockers weren’t safe.

Jason let himself into the flat that he shared with his mother, brothers, sister and four-year-old daughter. As expected, the kids were fending for themselves.

‘Daddy,’ four-year-old Shay cried out, holding out her arms for a cuddle. She was filthy, had dirt all over her hands and face, and was still wearing the pyjamas he’d put on her last night.

‘Where’s Mum?’ Jason asked twelve-year-old Barbara. Like himself, Babs, as he fondly called her, had no idea who her father was; the pair of them had been the result of drunken one-night stands. Babs was mixed-race. She was also extremely overweight, thanks to the shit food she ate. It was Babs who looked after their two younger brothers Elton, eight, and Kyle who’d just turned six. A drunken waste of space, his mother was, which was why Jason wanted to find a better home for his daughter. This was no environment for her to be raised in.

‘Mum went to get fags, but she never came back. The kids are starving. There’s only Weetabix and baked beans in the cupboard, and there’s no milk. Can you get us some food, Jason?’ Babs asked hopefully. Trapped in the flat looking after three kids, food was the only enjoyment she got in life and she was currently yearning for a Big Mac or a large portion of greasy chips smothered in salt and vinegar. Her stomach felt as if her throat had been cut.

Jason put his daughter down and urged Barbara to make the kids look presentable.

‘Why I gotta wash? Where we going?’ asked young Kyle.

‘McDonald’s – I’m treating us. So it’s bathtime for all three of ya,’ Jason grinned, ruffling Elton’s frizzy Afro hair. He and Kyle had the same father. He was no role model though. Known to the locals as ‘Rasta Dave’, he’d flooded the estate with heroin before getting a ten-stretch. Jason had been dragged to court by his mother, who’d sobbed like a baby as Dave was sentenced. He hadn’t acknowledged them, the same way he’d refused to acknowledge that Elton and Kyle were his sons. He wouldn’t even put his name on their birth certificates, the loser.

Hearing the kids splash happily about in the bath, Jason’s thoughts turned to the girl he’d met on the market today. He’d known her mate had fancied him when she’d come to the stall last week with her mother. And he’d known she’d be back; ditzy airheads like her always were predictable.

Jason lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag. He wasn’t looking for a bird to shag senseless. He had plenty of those on the go, including Darlene, the thirty-eight-year-old mother of his old school pal Andy Michaels. What Jason was currently looking for was someone half sensible. A single mum with a council flat or, better still, her own gaff would be ideal.

Hearing a commotion, Jason walked over to the window and stared at the gloomy sight outside. A full-blown punch-up was in progress – par for the course on the Mardyke Estate. Jason loved and loathed the estate in equal measure. It was all he had ever known, and some of the people who lived there were proper. However, lots were not; when you flipped the coin, it was a shithole situated off the busy A13 in Rainham.

Jason’s mother wasn’t one for adding homely touches. The only thing hanging on the wall in their depressing, threadbare flat was a long mirror in the hallway that Debbie Rampling would preen her fat self in before leaving the premises. Once she was out of the way, the kids would spend hours dancing in front of the mirror while music – reggae and lovers rock, for the most part – blared out the stereo system. None of the kids had many toys, and the ones he brought home always seemed to go missing. Knowing his mother, she was probably flogging them around the estate.

Jason strolled into the hallway and studied himself. Though he had no idea who his father was, he owed the man for his good looks; he certainly hadn’t inherited them from his mother. He was handsome and he knew it. He’d also been aware of the power he had over the opposite sex from a very early age and had honed his skills over the years. That was going to be his way out. Living a deprived life was not for Jason Rampling. He was a go-getter and wanted far better. Not only for him, but for Shay too.

‘I’m fine, Johnny. For goodness’ sake, stop fussing,’ Carol said.

Johnny Brooks felt awful. Was God paying him back for his affair? he wondered. Because if so, he wished the big man above would take it out on him instead. Carol didn’t deserve to suffer. It was him who was the bastard.

Carol had snapped out of her fit by the time the ambulance had arrived, but he’d forced her to go to hospital regardless. She was petrified of anything to do with the medical profession; even a trip to the GP’s brought her out in a cold sweat. Johnny knew she would discharge herself first chance she got.

‘You’re not going to be able to hide this for ever, you know. We need to think about telling the family, at least. And you should have stayed in overnight, just to be on the safe side. Say you have another fit?’

‘Shut up. Melissa must be out of her mind with worry. I can’t believe you didn’t leave a note. That’s the first thing I’d have done. Now call us a cab. Smell of these places reminds me of death. And ring Melissa. Do not say we’ve been up Oldchurch, ’cause she’ll worry. Say we went for dinner round Dick and Yvonne’s at short notice. OK?’

Johnny Brooks nodded. Once Carol had made her mind up about something, there was no changing it.

Leaving the kids happily stuffing their faces, Jason wandered outside McDonald’s to get better reception. He leaned against his pride and joy: a black XR2 with full body kit and shiny alloy wheels. He’d recently treated himself to a Blaupunkt car stereo and 200-watt speakers out of his illegal earnings. He never left them inside an empty car though. Car stereo and speaker theft was rife these days. His motor stood out like a sore thumb on the Mardyke and was like a beacon for the Old Bill; he was forever getting tugged in it. That’s why he drove his old white Escort van if he was carrying anything dodgy. Because he owned a mobile phone and decent motor, the police seemed to be under the misapprehension he must be a drug dealer. Nothing could be further from the truth. Having seen so many people on the estate overdose or balls their lives up through drugs, Jason had never touched the stuff in his life. Which was more than could be said for his mother. She smoked weed on a regular basis. Seeing her stoned was enough to put anyone with half a brain off.

Jason liked to think of himself as a younger, better-looking Arthur Daley. Minder had been his favourite TV programme growing up and he’d naturally picked up the art of spotting an opportunity and grabbing it with both hands. The one day he worked on the market was the only regular income he had, apart from his fortnightly dole cheque. The rest of his dosh came from selling whatever he could get his hands on, including hardcore porn films. His pal got hold of them from Holland. He’d copy them and Jason would sell the pirate versions, earning two quid per film himself. On a bad week he could sell fifty films, on a good two hundred and fifty. It never failed to amaze Jason how many people watched porn. He even sold loads over the Mardyke, and virtually everybody who lived there professed to be skint.

Knowing his mother’s usual habits, Jason rang up the Millhouse Social Club and spoke to the barmaid. She was there, just as he’d known she would be. When she had the cheek to slur, ‘What’s up?’ down the phone, Jason calmly told her he would pick her up in half an hour and she needed to stay at home this evening as he had to go out. There was no point kicking off with her, especially when she was wasted.

His mother reluctantly agreeing, Jason ended the call and thought again about the girl he’d met on the market. Melissa was plain rather than pretty, but if she had her own gaff, she’d do for the time being.

‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick,’ Melissa Brooks exclaimed. Her parents never went anywhere without leaving a note or telling her beforehand, so their absence today was totally out of character.

‘Sorry, love. I asked your dad to leave a note, but you know what he’s like – brain like a sieve,’ Carol bluffed. ‘We went for dinner round Yvonne and Dick’s. Last-minute invite,’ she added.

Melissa looked suspiciously at her father. ‘What you done to your face?’

Carol was quick off the mark. ‘Silly old sod walked into the door. I couldn’t stop laughing,’ she lied. Johnny had told her that Craig Thurston had turned up at the club, kicking off over money.

‘You’re lying,’ Melissa squared up to them.

‘Don’t start, Mel. Why would we lie?’ Johnny spat. Guilt was eating away at him and he’d decided to spend every moment of every day with Carol from now on.

Donte broke the ice. ‘Look, Nana. Doggy,’ he said, pressing the switch to make the toy walk and bark.

Carol crouched and scooped her grandson into her arms. Johnny’s right-wing views had rubbed off on her over the years and she’d been horrified when Melissa had announced Donte’s father was black. But a grandmother’s instinct had taken over the second the child was born. He’d clung to her little finger at one point and Carol’s heart had melted; he was one of the most beautiful babies she had ever seen. ‘Who bought you that? Mummy? What’s the doggy’s name?’ she asked.

‘A man.’

Confused, Carol said, ‘Eamonn?’

‘A man, Mum. One of the stallholders bought it for him,’ Melissa explained.

‘Aww, that was nice. Do you know him?’ Carol asked.

‘No. And now Tracey has the right hump because she fancied him and he asked me out.’

‘Put the kettle on, Johnny, while I have a chat with Mel,’ Carol urged. Apart from being a bit tired, she felt fine now.

Carol was a doting mum, always had been, and she missed her son who’d moved up north. Melissa was her world though. They’d had a strong mother–daughter bond from the moment Mel was born. ‘Tell me what happened,’ Carol said gently. She knew Tracey could be a stroppy, dictatorial mare at times and wished Mel could meet a nicer best friend to hang out with.

Melissa told her the story, concluding: ‘She virtually accused me of showing out to him! But I never, I swear. I was dressed like this with my Timberlands on, for Christ’s sake, while she was all done up to the nines. It’s not my fault he never fancied her, is it?’

‘No, it isn’t. Tracey’s just jealous, love. She’ll snap out of it. So what’s his name, this lad?’

‘Jason.’

‘And is he handsome?’

‘Very. He’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and lovely blond hair. And he was so good with Donte. I couldn’t believe it when he asked me out. I was in shock. But I can’t go. Tracey will never speak to me again if I do.’

‘Tracey is boy mad, as you well know. Fancies a different one every week. You go out with Jason if you like him. But don’t lie to Tracey; stand up to her for once. She might be angry, but I’d put money on it she’ll forget all about Jason in a week or two and move on to her next sodding victim. You mustn’t let her rule you – I’ve told you that before.’

‘He gave me his number. It’s a mobile. Perhaps it’s dodgy and he was taking the mickey out of me?’ Melissa suggested.

Carol held her daughter’s beautiful face in her hands. She’d never met Donte’s father, but the bastard had knocked the stuffing out of Melissa. She’d once been a confident girl, full of life. Now she was insecure and Carol hated seeing her like that. ‘Ring him,’ she urged. ‘Sod Tracey. Remember that time you fancied David Ward? She didn’t care when you caught her snogging him behind the bloody bike sheds, did she? Go with your instincts for once.’

‘He must be nice to buy Donte that dog,’ Melissa said, lost in thought.

‘You gotta go for it then, love. My mate Sylvie fancied your father before I snapped him up. Sometimes I wish I’d have let her have him,’ Carol laughed. ‘Sylv never spoke to me for a month when we started courting, but she soon got over it. True friends are hard to find and not many girls will put up with that madam Tracey Thompson like you do. Trust me on that one.’

Melissa smiled. ‘Perhaps I’ll ring him. What if it’s a dodgy number though?’

‘If that’s the case, I’ll be marching straight down to Dagenham Market next Sunday and whacking him around the head with my handbag,’ Carol stated, meaning every word. She was very protective when it came to her children, had once nearly stuck a pair of secateurs into a woman’s arm over Melissa while pruning her roses.

Melissa laughed. ‘I don’t want to seem too keen. But if I do decide to contact him, how long do you reckon I should leave it?’

Carol squeezed her daughter’s hands. ‘No ifs or buts, ring him on Tuesday. Mummy knows best. She always has.’

‘That you, Jason?’ shouted sixty-year-old Peggy Rampling. She knew it would be her grandson; he was the only other person with a key to her house.

‘All right, Nan,’ Jason answered, handing her a box of goodies.

‘What ya got for me then?’ Peggy asked, delving into the box then looking up at him, disappointed. ‘No Guinness?’

‘Nah. I couldn’t park outside the offie and couldn’t be arsed taking the stereo and speakers out the car again. There’s perfume in there, some toiletries, a Connie Francis CD and a few packets of them biscuits you like.’

Peggy took the Rive Gauche perfume out of the box and began coughing and spluttering as she sprayed it. ‘That ain’t the real McCoy. Smells like cat’s piss,’ she complained.

‘It is the real deal, Nan. I bought it off a pal and he wouldn’t have me over.’

‘Well, he has. Get your money back and buy me some Guinness instead,’ Peggy said, lobbing the perfume back at Jason.

‘What you been up to? Did you go to bingo last night?’

‘Yep! And Friday. Rigged, that bingo hall is. Same faces win every night. Won the regional, that old cow Doris Shipton did. That’s the second time she’s won it this year and it’s only bastard April. Nobody’s that lucky. I hope she gets her purse snatched.’

‘Some people are just born lucky, Nan. You going again tonight?’

‘Nah. I’d like to, of course – gets lonely, sitting in here on me jacks – but I can’t afford it.’

Knowing full well his grandmother had money stashed in pots, pans, jars and tins all over the gaff, Jason put his hand in his pocket and handed her a score.

‘Thank you, sweetheart. Good boy to your old nan, you are. Don’t know how you come out of her, I honestly don’t. How is she? As rancid as ever?’

‘Same old, same old,’ Jason replied truthfully. His nan and mum hadn’t spoken since he was eight years old. At five, his mother had decided she didn’t want him any more and had palmed him off to live with his nan. Those were the happiest childhood memories Jason had. His nan wasn’t perfect – she was a prolific pilferer who’d shoplift anything that wasn’t nailed down – but she’d given him love and attention, the two things he never got at home. When Babs was born, his mother insisted he had to live with her again, and his nan hadn’t spoken to her since.

‘Got yourself a nice girlfriend yet?’ Peggy grinned.

‘I’m still seeing that one from Harold Hill I told you about, but I think I’m gonna have to knock her on the head. She’s only seventeen. Too young and immature.’ Jason told his grandmother most things, but had never mentioned his affair with Darlene. His nan had once lived on the Mardyke and hated her. ‘Look at that old slapper. All fur coat and no knickers, that one,’ she’d say whenever they crossed paths. The last thing Jason wanted was his gran turning up on Dar’s doorstep creating havoc. And he was sure she would if she learned the truth. She was that type of woman.

‘You need a mother for Shay, ASAP. Horrible child! Don’t bring her round ’ere no more, will ya? Trampled on all me geraniums on purpose last time she visited, and I’d only just planted the bastard things. You need to get her away from that stinking fat excuse of a mother of yours. Because if you don’t, she’ll only get worse,’ Peggy warned.

Jason sighed. His nan wasn’t one to mince her words and was usually right. ‘I know. Leave it with me. I’m working on it.’

CHAPTER THREE

Melissa Brooks lay on her bed wallowing in self-pity. It hadn’t stopped raining all day, so she hadn’t been able to take Donte out as she usually did. And her son had a cold, had been whingeing since the moment he’d opened his eyes this morning. Days such as these were the ones she wished for her old life back.

Melissa looked at the time again. Tracey worked on her mother’s burger van on an industrial estate and would be home soon. They hadn’t spoken since Sunday. When Mel had rung Tracey Sunday evening and last night, her mum had said she’d gone to the pub.

Sighing, Melissa sat up. She’d had lots of friends before she’d had Donte, but had lost touch with most of them now. The girls from work rang her occasionally, but her life seemed so different to theirs it depressed Melissa talking to them. It had only been an office job at the council, but she’d been happy there. She’d left when she was six months pregnant; they’d offered her maternity leave, but instead she took a small redundancy payment. Her father had made it perfectly clear that raising the baby would be her responsibility, so she’d had little choice.

Carol peeked around the bedroom door. ‘You hungry yet, love? I finally got Donte off to sleep. Really not himself today, is he?’

When her daughter’s eyes welled up, Carol sat next to her on the bed and put an arm round her.

‘Tracey’s avoiding me, so now I have nobody to go out with. Sometimes I wish I’d taken Dad’s advice. It’s no fun being a single mum at my age. I miss my old life.’

Realizing a stern talking to was needed, Carol cleared her throat. ‘It’s too late for regrets, Mel. Donte is part of your life now and always will be. Sod Tracey. She’s never been a good friend to you anyway. Ring Jason. Go on. What have you got to lose?’

Melissa fished through her purse and pulled out the number. ‘You go out the room then. I need to plan what I’m going to say before I speak to him.’

Carol smiled. ‘Just be yourself, love. That’s why he liked you in the first place.’

‘Elton, stop banging that fucking drum! Doing my head in, you are,’ Debbie Rampling bellowed.

Giggling, Elton sang along to Bob Marley’s ‘Three Little Birds’ and banged his drum even harder. He only stopped when his mother yanked him off the carpet by his arm and walloped him repeatedly across the backside.

‘Mum, I’m starving,’ complained Kyle, tugging at her arm.

‘Babs, come and sort these bastard kids out before I strangle ’em,’ Debbie ordered.

Jason was having a lie-down in the smallest of the flat’s three bedrooms, which he shared with Shay. His mother had the largest and Barbara shared the other with Elton and Kyle.

When his mother decided she couldn’t be bothered cooking again and ordered Babs to take the kids round the chippie to give her a break, Jason waited until his sister had left the flat before marching into the lounge. ‘I think you and I should have a little chat.’

Lying on the sofa, fag in hand, watching the latest episode of the highly addictive Jeremy Kyle show, Debbie asked, ‘What about?’ in a totally disinterested tone.

Jason picked up the remote and pressed pause. ‘About everything. You going out all the time. Babs skipping school at your insistence every time you have a hangover. You refusing to cook for the kids. The list is endless. You gotta sort yourself out, ya know. I’m old enough to fend for myself, but your other three aren’t.’

Debbie took a gulp from her plastic bottle of cider, then sneered. ‘If you’re old enough to fend for yourself, why are you and your daughter living under my roof?’ Part of Debbie wanted to tell her son to pack his and Shay’s belongings and sling his hook, but Jason was too much of an asset to her financially. He gave her fifty quid a week, helped with the kids and paid for most of the grub they ate.