Stalking through to the grey and silver wallpapered lounge of the mid-terraced house in East Grinstead, which was located in the north-eastern corner of Sussex – a place he’d moved to last year – Balantyne kicked the tabby cat out of the way.
He sighed heavily as he sunk into the putrid coral-coloured chair and gritted his teeth – too hard – immediately feeling a throbbing pain run through his jaw, making his current mood even worse.
He would much rather be at work, busy and not having time to think about anything else but the job at hand. Being at home meant all the distractions disappeared and he was left with his own thoughts, something he’d rather run from.
Reaching over to finish off the half glass of whiskey that had been sat on the walnut coffee table since last night, Balantyne stared gloomily into the glass before dipping his finger in, to flick out the midge that had landed in it. Then knocking back the whiskey, he felt the welcoming burn in his throat, hoping that the drink would not only lighten his mood but would lessen the dull ache from his tooth as well.
His thoughts drifted back to Franny and her father, as well as Alfie and Vaughn. The faces of Soho, old and new, who as far back as he could remember he’d played a cat and mouse game with – though frustratingly, and he hated to admit it, they were always one move ahead of him.
To try to catch them out, he’d even stepped over to the wrong side of the law at times: getting information by bribing or blackmailing terrified witnesses, planting evidence to try to get some kind of confession, or even strong-arming the suspects when they were in custody. Anything just to bring them down.
He knew that if they’d known some of the things he’d resorted to over the years, a lot of people he worked with would wrongly label him as a bent copper. And of course, that would be a joke; he was far from that. He did what was needed to try to get results, to try to get the lowlife scum put away. It was as simple as that.
He wasn’t the criminal, they were. And when it came down to the likes of Franny Doyle and Alfie Jennings and his sidekick, Vaughn Sadler, the only option was to play dirty, to play the game at their level. So if walking the wrong side of the line occasionally would keep the streets clean of them, he was more than happy to do that.
‘I suppose you’ve been with her again?’
Balantyne’s thoughts were abruptly broken as he looked towards the sound of the voice. Standing in her dressing gown in the doorway was his wife, Emma. Tall and thin, her long blonde hair falling messily out of the high ponytail and yesterday’s mascara sitting smudged under her eyes.
Quietly, Balantyne shook his head as he placed his glass down on the floor. ‘Emma, please, I’ve been working. I’m tired, and I just wanted to unwind.’
‘Then why don’t I believe you …? And if you haven’t been with her, I know you’ve been with some other cheap slag.’
‘Em, I’ve just told you. I’ve been working. That’s it. So I’d appreciate it, sweetheart, if we didn’t have to go through the same thing again,’ Balantyne said quietly, staring into the glass of whiskey.
Without warning, Emma shrieked, her expression screwed up with anger. She rushed into the room, pushing her face inches away from Balantyne’s. ‘Liar! Liar! You’re a liar! I know it! I can smell her on you.’
A mix of anger and despair rushed through Balantyne. ‘The only thing you can smell is the booze you’ve been necking back all day.’
Emma’s eyes blazed with anger. ‘Do you blame me, Tone? Are you surprised that I drink? Wouldn’t you in my position?’ She paused then her gaze searched Balantyne’s face and with her voice full of resentment, she hissed, ‘It’s all your fault, Tone. I will never forgive you for what you did to me. You owe me.’
Balantyne, wanting Emma just to stop, nodded and said, almost inaudibly, ‘I know. I know, sweetheart.’
‘Then come on, tell me. Tell me the truth, have you been with her?’
Staring straight into Emma’s eyes, Balantyne shook his head. ‘No, Em, of course not. It’s all in your head. There is no her.’
It was like a red rag to a bull. Emma leapt at her husband, scratching his face as she tugged on his hair. ‘Don’t lie to me! I know you’re screwing around on me!’
Flinching from the pain in his scalp, Balantyne raged, ‘Well if you know that, Em, why bother asking me then?’
Emma’s shriek filled the room again. ‘You bastard! You fucking bastard! You think this is all a big joke, don’t you?’
Balantyne grabbed her arms, pulling them off him. He bellowed back, ‘Are you kidding me? Does any of this look like a joke? I’m just sick of it. Every day it’s the same thing, Em … I just want to know why you’re doing this? Why do you always have to do this, Em?’
Emma’s eyes filled with tears. Her voice danced on the edge of hysteria. ‘Don’t you dare turn this round! You know why I’m like this; you made me like this. I can’t trust you, and it’s all I think about. I know you’re seeing someone. I know it. I can smell her on you.’
Balantyne looked at Emma despairingly. ‘That’s just not true.’
Again, Emma lunged at him but this time she clawed at his eyes, screaming at the top of her voice.
Scrambling up from the chair, Balantyne knocked Emma backwards, forcing her against the wall where he grabbed her by the throat, banging her head against the tall wooden sideboard.
Balantyne’s face flushed red. ‘Is this what you want, Em? Are you happy now? Happy that you’ve pushed me to do this again? So now you can say I’m the bad guy, can’t you? That’s what you want isn’t it? Now you can go around telling everyone I knock you about, can’t you?’
Emma yelled in Balantyne’s face. ‘Who is there to tell? I haven’t got any friends because you won’t let me. I’ve got no one because of you.’
Enraged, Balantyne dropped his hand from her throat and punched the wall next to the side of her head. ‘Stop lying. Just fucking stop! The truth is you pushed them all away because no one wants to be around you. No one can cope with it. No one can put up with your drinking. You’re toxic, Em.’
‘And whose fault is that? Whose fault is it that I drink?’
Balantyne pushed his body close to Emma’s. He hissed his words: ‘I told you if you want to blame me then go ahead, blame it all on me.’
Again, Emma’s gaze darted over Balantyne’s face, which was only centimetres away. ‘Is she better than me?’
‘What? What are you talking about now?’
‘Her. Does she make you feel something that I don’t?’
Feeling the blood run down his face from the scratch on his head, Balantyne spoke softly. ‘Em, I’ve already told you, it’s just you and me.’
‘Then prove it … Prove that you love me. Let’s have a baby, Tony … You know how much I want a baby. Our own little family.’
‘Em, please … You can’t even look after yourself let alone a child at the moment—’ Balantyne felt the sting from the slap. His cheek turned red and the mark of Emma’s hand left a welt.
‘How dare you! How fucking dare you? Who do you think you are?’
‘I’m sorry okay. I didn’t mean that,’ Balantyne muttered.
‘But you did … Look at me, Tone, look at me!’
Desperate and unable to hold Emma’s gaze, Balantyne dropped his stare.
‘You can’t can you? You can’t even look at me. Do I repulse you that much?’ She looked him up and down. ‘I said, do I repulse you that much?’
Balantyne shook his head. He spoke quietly. ‘No … no, it’s just difficult … It’s all such a mess. And I’d be lying if I said that when I look at you, it doesn’t remind me of what happened … what I did, but that’s not to say you repulse me.’
The screech from Emma startled the cat who leapt away out of the room as Emma’s eyes flashed with anger and her hands moved down to Tony’s trousers. She began to unbutton his jeans. ‘Then why don’t you want me? I can tell you’re lying, you’re hiding something … and you can’t tell me I wouldn’t be a good mother – you know I would.’
Balantyne thought it wise not to say what he was actually thinking, so instead he mumbled, ‘For Christ’s sake … can’t you see, we just aren’t in a great place right now … Maybe in time—’ He stopped talking to grab hold of her hand before adding, ‘Em, stop, please, you’re not listening to me … I don’t want this.’
‘Well I do, and you owe me Tony, after what you did. You owe me.’
And as Balantyne – fighting back his emotions – stared at his wife and let her undo his trousers, the one thing that he couldn’t deny, whether he liked it or not, was that he did indeed owe her … Big time.
8
Not bothering to wait for the lift, Vaughn rushed up the thick, grey carpeted stairs to the second landing. Shit. He was annoyed with himself. It was a stupid mistake. He must’ve missed seeing Huang and his men walk into the block of flats when he’d gone to the counter to order the drinks. Fuck.
Rushing onto Alfie’s landing, he raced down the corridor, knocking over the large potted plant in the corner. He could feel his heart racing and sweat dripped down the back of his shirt. He knew from personal experience that Huang was vicious and inhumane, getting his kicks out of violence. He just hoped that he wasn’t too late.
Hearing Shannon run up behind him, Vaughn’s thoughts suddenly came to an abrupt halt as he saw Mia crawling happily along the corridor in his direction.
‘What’s she doing out here?’ Shannon said, her voice filled with worry. As she went to scoop up Mia, Vaughn held her back, his eyes darting up and down the corridor as he listened out for any noise.
‘Wait. There could still be somebody inside the flat.’
Shaking Vaughn’s grip off her arm, Shannon moved forward towards Mia. ‘I don’t care who’s about. I ain’t leaving her there, and if you ask me, the only person in that flat is Alfie, pissed out of his head.’
Vaughn hissed as his temper rose. ‘For fuck’s sake, turn it in and just do as you’re told.’
Ignoring him, Shannon picked up Mia who gurgled in delight, though her chubby little face was stained with dry tears.
Fuming, Vaughn growled. ‘Don’t you ever listen to anyone anymore?’
‘When it comes to her I don’t and I told you we shouldn’t do this. I told you leaving Mia with him was a bad idea.’
‘Will you just shut the hell up? For fuck’s sake, Shan, this ain’t about his parenting skills, is it? You just don’t get it, do you?’
Bouncing Mia in her arms, Shannon – having no clue about Huang and no idea why Vaughn was so upset – wiped her nose with her sleeve. ‘Say what you want, it was always going to end tits up when it came to Alfie.’
‘Keep your voice down, will ya, and your mouth shut. If it wasn’t for Alfie, you would still be working for your uncle Charlie. After all, he was the one who took you in and helped you in the first place. So think on before you slag him off,’ Vaughn whispered angrily as he pulled out his gun from his jacket pocket. He glared at Shannon. ‘Take her back to my flat.’
Shannon stared at the gun, suddenly appreciating that whatever was happening was serious. Worried, she shook her head. ‘I ain’t leaving you here. You might need me.’
Incensed and on high alert Vaughn spoke through gritted teeth. ‘And what are you going to do, hey? Fight them off with Mia’s dummy? Now stop being so frigging stupid and go.’
A flash of hurt ran through Shannon’s eyes. ‘I’m just saying that …’
Vaughn interrupted. ‘Well, don’t. I ain’t got fucking time for this. It’s a big enough worry knowing Alfie’s just been paid a visit from a man who makes Hannibal Lecter look sane, and I don’t want to worry about you as well. Now just go home, will ya?’
In the long, cream, quiet corridor Shannon tilted her head as she stared at Vaughn. Shyly she asked, ‘You … you worry about me?’
‘Shan, will you just piss off home?’
As Shannon turned to go, a small smile appeared on her lips. She knew it. She just knew she’d been right about Vaughn. He did care. He did worry about her and maybe he was even beginning to fall in love with her …
None the wiser to Shannon’s feelings, Vaughn raced down the hallway to Alfie’s flat, where only a couple of hours ago he’d kicked down the front door.
He paused, readying himself. In the back of his mind he couldn’t help thinking that the most sensible course of action would be to call some of his men, but that would mean waiting, and maybe Alfie just didn’t have time.
Feeling the prickle of sweat at the back of his neck, Vaughn pushed himself against the wall. Then after a mental countdown he craned his head around the doorway, his heart thumping. Immediately he froze at the scene in front of him. There on the floor in a pool of his own blood was Alfie.
‘Jesus Christ.’ Checking left and right, Vaughn quickly tucked away his gun as he ran forward. He bent down to take Alfie’s pulse … Yeah, yeah, he could feel it. Relief washed over him. He let out a long sigh then spoke warmly. ‘Alf, Alf, can you hear me mate?’
There was no sound from Alfie, and Vaughn, staring at the slice across Alfie’s cheek, shook him gently. ‘Alfie, it’s me … It’s me, Vaughn.’
A small groan came from Alfie, and encouraged by the noise, Vaughn continued to speak. ‘Do you want me to help you sit up?’
Struggling to speak, let alone open his eyes, and with his whole body hurting, Alfie murmured, ‘I just don’t think I can. My head’s banging and my face feels like it’s been through a shredder.’
‘I know, mate, and it certainly looks that way … You’ll need to get that cut seen to – it’ll need some stitches. I can take you up to A & E.’
Alfie tried to shake his head as he felt the thumping pressure behind his right swollen eye. He grimaced, unable to remember the last time he felt so much pain. ‘No, no way, I ain’t going. There’ll be too many questions. I’ll sort it, I’ll get Davey to do it.’
Vaughn nodded. Davey was an old-timer – once an East End face to be reckoned with – and someone who could give any surgeon or doctor a run for his money when it came to pulling out bullets or sewing up knife wounds. He was a handy guy to have about, because as Alfie said, it stopped any unwanted questions.
‘Don’t worry, I can give him a call … Look, let me help you up.’
Vaughn scooped his arm under Alfie’s shoulders, carefully helping his friend to sit upright. Alfie yelped in pain; his body ached and his face was a rainbow of red and blue bruises. The slash on his face wept and oozed blood, and his eye was so swollen that he couldn’t see out of it. His nose ran with blood, and a gash on his forehead sat under his hairline. His lip was torn and engorged.
‘Fucking hell, Alf, do yourself a favour and don’t look in any mirrors.’
‘I ain’t planning to.’
Popping a cigarette carefully in Alfie’s mouth for him and giving him a light, Vaughn looked at him hard, not letting on how shocked he was to see him in such a state.
He’d known Alfie for as long as he could remember, though in truth, it’d had been Alfie’s brother, Connor, who he’d first been friends with. They’d been the best of mates, totally inseparable and to this day he missed him.
Even back in the early days – whilst he and Connor were closer than a lot of blood brothers were – he’d had a love-hate relationship with Alfie. And over the years there were many times he’d wanted to walk away from him. But he couldn’t; not even when Alfie had ripped him off, nor when Alfie had tried to get off with his missus, or when Alfie had put their lives at risk – and that was all because Vaughn had made a promise to Connor.
When Connor had died in his arms after a robbery had gone wrong, the last thing Connor had asked him was to look after Alfie, no matter what. And through a mixture of both guilt and love for Connor, that’s exactly what he’d been doing for all these years. But it’d been hard, really hard, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep on doing it, especially as he and Alfie had been clashing so much recently – and not over little things either. In particular he’d always hated the way Franny had such a hold over Alfie – so it was about time that she had her comeuppance.
Sighing and irritated now, he turned his attention back to the present.
‘So as you’re still alive, I guess you can start talking … Go on then, Alf, tell me about it.’
Propping himself up against the wall, Alfie, grateful for the cigarette, took a deep drag before slowly turning to Vaughn. ‘I don’t want to talk about Mia. I already told you, I didn’t want to see her.’
Annoyed at his attitude towards Mia, Vaughn said roughly, ‘I ain’t fucking talking about her. Though fuck knows I don’t know what your problem is with your own daughter. We can talk about that later.’
His face still seeping with pus and blood, Alfie mumbled out of his torn mouth, wincing at the incessant pain in his lips, ‘Then what? What the fuck are you going on about?’
‘Huang. What the fuck was Huang doing here?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Vaughn leant forward, speaking in a quiet hush. ‘Don’t treat me like a mug, Alf, you know exactly what I’m talking about, and if you don’t start spilling the beans, I’m going to finish off what Huang started.’
9
Shannon hurried along Lexington Street, holding on to Mia who wasn’t exactly light. She cut through to Beak Street, passing the Chinese herbal wellness centre and the old coffee house, pushing through the afternoon office crowds and negotiating her way around the groups of chatting visitors and people who’d ground to a dead halt to stare down at their phones.
She knew these streets and roads well; after all she’d spent most of her teenage years soliciting on them or searching for crack cocaine from the various drug dens that were hidden from the milling tourists. And truthfully, the whole place made her feel uncomfortable. It was a constant reminder of what she had been, what she had seen, and what she was afraid she still was.
She’d lost count of the number of blow jobs she’d given and how many times she’d laid on her back letting some overweight sweaty punter ride her hard as if she was a piece of meat, or the times her uncle had made her dance naked for a crowd of men who were old enough to be her great-granddad, let alone her granddad.
She shivered at the memories, feeling sick, the knot in her stomach always triggered when she thought back.
She glanced down at Mia who was looking up at her curiously and she smiled, her grin almost as gummy and toothless as the baby’s. ‘And none of that is going to happen to you, is it, Mia? You’re going to have a good life, ain’t you? You’re not going to let any frigging—’
‘Hello, Shannon. Fancy seeing you here.’
The voice coming from behind her made sixteen-year-old Shannon almost vomit. The nausea rose and she tasted the bile at the back of her throat. Swallowing it back down, she trembled and began to turn around. There in front of her was Uncle Charlie. The same Uncle Charlie who’d always talked in bust lips, black eyes, broken ribs and knocked-out teeth.
Seeing his niece, Charlie Eton licked his lips. He surveyed her hungrily. The last time he’d seen her she’d been a scrawny drug addict without an ounce of fat on her; her skin had been sallow and spotty and her face often unwashed. But now, she looked like a turkey that had been fattened up for Christmas. ‘Now look at you, all done up like a dog’s fucking dinner. You must be sucking the bollocks off Vaughn and Alfie to get them to look after you so well. Finally you’ve got a bit of weight on that skeleton of yours.’
Shannon’s big green eyes filled up with tears as she looked down at Charlie who sat in a wheelchair, a result of Alfie doing what she wished she’d done a long time ago – taking a gun and shooting off one of his kneecaps.
Charlie’s bald head shone in the May sun, his nose and face a ruddy red map of veins.
Eventually trusting herself enough to speak, Shannon glared at her uncle from under her fringe of red curly hair, her bottom lip quivering. ‘It ain’t like that.’
‘Oh come on, Shan. I know you and I know men and there’s no way Alfie and Vaughn would be looking after the likes of you if you weren’t shoving them huge tits in their faces and nibbling on their dicks like there was no tomorrow.’
Shannon covered Mia’s ears. ‘Not everyone wants what you wanted. Not everyone’s as sick as you.’
Charlie’s hand flew up, his face screwed up in anger, as he grabbed Shannon’s arm. ‘I never heard you complain when you were with me.’
Even though she hated herself for it, Shannon was crying now. ‘No, and you know why? Cos if I did you’d just batter me, so you get to learn that complaining ain’t gonna get you nowhere.’
Charlie smirked nastily then changed tack. ‘Why don’t you just come home, Shan? You belong there. We all miss you.’
Shannon snorted in derision, ignoring the odd looks she was getting from passers-by. ‘The only thing you miss is the money I earned you.’
Charlie’s beady eyes stared at her hard. ‘That’s not true.’
Distraught, Shannon buried her face against Mia’s head, seeking comfort, seeking to find strength to stand up to Charlie.
Taking a deep breath and inhaling the smell of Mia’s freshly washed baby hair, Shannon lifted up her head. She glared at her uncle. ‘It is true, and I never did anything other than be on me back or on my knees … You know something, I’d never been to a restaurant or to the cinema until Vaughn took me. Can you believe that? I never walked inside one, ever.’
Charlie shrugged. ‘I never said me name was Pearl & Dean, did I? Oh come on, Shan, if that’s what it takes for you to be happy, I’ll take you to the bleedin’ cinema. I’ll even get you some popcorn.’ He stopped and a twinkle appeared in his eyes before he continued with, ‘And in return, whilst you’re watching Dumbo, you can wank me off in the back row.’ He burst into laughter before it turned into a nasty cough. He wiped away the thick lump of yellow spit from his chin and grinned. ‘That was a joke, it was a joke! Jesus, Shan, you don’t have to look like that, do you?’
Verging on hysterical, Shannon shook her head furiously, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘But it ain’t a joke, is it? Well, is it? How many times have I done that to you … How many? And how young was I when it first happened?’
Nonplussed, Charlie gave an exaggerated yawn. ‘How the hell do I know?’
‘I’ll tell you, shall I? I was eight. That’s what you gave me for my eighth birthday. What was it … what did you say to me? Here you go, Shan, get your lips round that. Happy birthday. Most kids get a fucking Barbie or … or a Matchbox car. Not me, I got my uncle’s dick.’
‘Oh drop me out, you wanted it. It was mutual.’
Shannon wanted to scream, and if it wasn’t for the fact she was holding Mia she would’ve done, but instead she bit down on her lip, drawing blood as her body was racked with sobs. The pain in her voice cut through the air. ‘I was eight! Eight, Uncle Charlie, eight.’
‘Look, for the life of me I don’t know why you’re crying, but you’ve obviously got a problem. Like I say, you need to come home … You know what I think? I think you’re missing us, Shan – or at least this.’ Charlie went into his pocket, pulled something out, then had a quick look around before he opened his fist. Lying in the middle of his palm was a rock of crack.
On seeing what it was Shannon jumped backwards as if she’d had an electric shock. She shook her head and she could feel the beads of sweat prick at her forehead.
Charlie cackled. ‘I thought you might like that. Go on, take it. You can have that on me.’
‘I don’t want it.’
‘That’s not what your eyes are saying. Look at them, they’re lighting up like it’s the frigging Blackpool Illuminations.’
Shannon stared at the tiny off-white rock of crack, lying on Uncle Charlie’s palm. That tiny piece of cooked-up cocaine had nearly killed her and it had changed her into someone she didn’t want to be.
