Eddie scratched his head. It was a habit of his when he was struggling for the right words. ‘Look, I know what you’re saying, and yes, your uncles are both arseholes, especially Ronny, but they’re still our flesh and blood, son. Even though I’m gonna tell O’Hara it’s OK to fucking top ’em, I don’t think he has the power to do it. Once they come out of Belmarsh he might, but they’re looking at life and until then, I think they’re both safe. Whatever my or your opinion of ’em, I grew up with ’em, and you know how much I loved your grandad Harry. I can’t, in reality, order a hit on me own, Joey, it ain’t done in my circles.’

Joey faced his father with a nonchalant expression on his face. He walked towards him and placed his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. ‘Listen to me Dad, and listen carefully. I might not be part of your world, but I’m not stupid. If I was, I wouldn’t be working in the Stock Exchange. I’m worried about us. Me, you, Frankie, Dom, Nan and Grandad. And let’s not forget about Dom, Gina, Gary and Ricky. Mum’s death toughened me up and I’ve thought about your world a lot since. Do you honestly think that if you offer O’Hara Paulie and Ronny and then he can’t get to them, he’s gonna fall for that? He won’t. I barely know the man and even I know he won’t. Frustration at not getting his own back will set in and then he’ll look for other targets. You seem to be more concerned about Jimmy, but I know that Jed is the worst out of the lot, Dad. Frankie didn’t tell me too much, but I know he’s evil and he won’t let something like this rest. Don’t ask anyone to protect your brothers in prison. It’s all their own doing, aint it? Let the O’Hara’s have their revenge. If you don’t, you’re putting all our lives at risk.’

Frankie’s good mood evaporated as she walked into the dormitory and saw who she’d be sharing with. The girl that had bullied and humiliated Frankie on her arrival at Holloway had been black and this girl was the same colour. Fearing the worst, Frankie smiled and nervously held out her right hand.

‘Hi, my name’s Frankie.’

As the girl stood up, Frankie was shocked by how short she was. She was no more than five feet tall, if that. With a mass of bushy afro hair and enormous breasts, she almost looked as though she was about to topple over. The girl smiled, and as she did, her face lit up. She had one of the most beautiful smiles that Frankie had ever seen, and perfect white teeth. As she began to speak, her voice had a slight Jamaican lilt to it.

‘Thank you, Lord. I prayed last night that I wouldn’t be saddled with another head case, and he must have listened because he sent me you. My name’s Barbara, but you can call me Babs. Me and you, Frankie, are gonna get along just fine.’

Eddie arrived home, poured a large Scotch and sat at the kitchen table. The cottage seemed dismal and lonely without Gina’s presence and he couldn’t wait for her to return. Unable to stop thinking about what Joey had said earlier, Ed mulled over his words once more. The boy was right: if O’Hara couldn’t get to Paulie and Ronny, he’d get his revenge elsewhere. With his conscience pricking him, Ed topped his drink up. If he ordered nobody to watch his brother’s backs in Belmarsh, he was sure O’Hara could find somebody to get to them. The question was, could Eddie order his own brothers’ death sentences? He was temporarily saved from feeling like an executioner by the shrill ring of his phone.

‘Ed, it’s Pat. Just a quick call to let you know that Jimmy’s home. They’re all back, including Jed and your grandkids. Apparently they’d spent the week with poor Marky’s wife and kids.’

‘Did you tell Jimmy that I wanna speak to him, Pat?’

‘No. To be honest, I don’t really want to get involved, mate. It’s awkward, because I’m friends with the both of yous. Having said that, I do think you need to sort it, Ed. I know you’re no man’s fool, but if I was you I’d get this shit sorted fast. Jimmy ain’t a man to be messed with, you know.’

Eddie ended the call and sat back down at the kitchen table. He could sense the threat in Pat Murphy’s voice: O’Hara had said something to him, that part was obvious. Furious with the decision he was now faced with, Ed slammed his glass down so hard that it shattered into pieces. The O’Haras were the bane of his life and he would never be truly happy until they were all dead.

Over in the maternity wing in Holloway, Frankie and Babs were getting along rather well. Frankie had been suspicious of Babs’ warm welcome at first, but the more she’d chatted to her, the more her earlier distrust had evaporated. Babs was six months into her pregnancy and, like Frankie, she was also the mother of two other children, a boy and a girl. The only subject they hadn’t yet discussed was how they’d both come to end up in prison. Frankie was the first to broach the subject.

‘So when is your court case, Babs? And how long have you actually been in Holloway?’

‘My trial is probably next year sometime. I’ve been in here four months, but I know I’m gonna get life.’

Frankie was gobsmacked. Babs seemed so nice, but she must have done something really bad to be looking at life. Sensing Frankie’s reluctance to ask her what she’d done, Babs started to open up. In the four months she had already spent in Holloway, she had never really talked about her crime. The other inmates all knew what she’d been charged with, but nobody knew why she had done it. Her usually bubbly expression disappeared and was instantly replaced by a look of sadness.

‘My first boyfriend, Dennis, was a bastard to me. He’s the father of my daughter, Matilda, and I met him when I was fifteen. As soon as I fell pregnant, the beatings started. He nearly killed me one time; pushed me down some concrete stairs and I was in hospital for nearly two month. He was Jamaican, like me, and involved with the Yardies, into drugs, prostitution, the works. Once he even made me sleep with a mate of his while he filmed it.’

‘Oh my God, that’s awful,’ Frankie said, shocked.

Months of not speaking about what had happened came bubbling to the surface and Babs was determined to share her burden with Frankie.

‘That’s nothing compared to what happened next. I contacted one of those women’s refuge places and they were brilliant. They put me in one of their safe houses and me and Matilda were so happy until Dennis turned up one day and set fire to the place with us inside. We managed to escape through a back window, but it were such an awful experience, Frankie. Even to this day, a whiff of smoke is enough to frighten the living daylights out of me.

‘The police never caught Dennis: he went on the run, and he knew the right people to protect him. Me and Matilda got moved again, this time to Surrey, but I could never say we were happy there. I used to sit in the dark most nights in case Dennis had found out where we were. Then, one fine day, a copper knocked at the door. Dennis had been found dead on the streets of Brixton. He’d OD’d on drugs, crack cocaine, and the police reckon he’d died in a house or flat and had been dumped on the pavement after his death. I was so happy. All I wanted was to move back near my family and friends, but Dennis dying just seemed too good to be true. I insisted on viewing his body – I needed to know it was definitely him – and when I saw his evil face in that morgue, I danced for joy, as I was finally free.’

‘So, how did you end up in here? The police didn’t accuse you of injecting him or something, did they?’

Babs shook her head. ‘Dennis died over ten years ago and I vowed never to get involved with any other man, but I was desperate for a brother or sister for Matilda, so I had a fling until I got what I wanted. Jordan’s dad was a guy called Brandon. I barely knew him, and I never told him Jordan were his son. He seemed an OK sort of dude, but he lived with a girl. I doubt he would have been happy about it, as I’d told him I was on the pill. Me and the kids were then given a council house in Streatham and that was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. There was a park nearby and because I never had much money, I used to buy a cheap loaf of bread and take the kids there to feed the ducks. Then one day I got talking to this guy. I’d seen him there before and he seemed so nice. He was great with the kids, especially Jordan.’

When Babs began to cry, Frankie sat on the bunk next to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. ‘If it’s too upsetting for you, don’t tell me any more,’ Frankie whispered.

‘I want to. I need to tell someone,’ Babs sobbed.

Trying her hardest to pull herself together, Babs continued her story. ‘Unlike all my ex-boyfriends, Peter was a white dude. He was a bus driver and seemed such a kind, honest, down-to-earth person. I didn’t rush into anything. I met him loads of times at the park before I agreed to go out on a date with him.’

‘Ssh, it’s OK. He can’t hurt you no more, nobody can,’ Frankie soothed, as Babs began to cry once again.

‘I went out with Peter a whole year before I let him move in with me. He’d play football with Jordan, help Matilda with her homework, he seemed like the ideal stepfather. Then one day I was meant to be taking Jordan to his friend’s birthday party. Peter had offered to look after Matilda and I told him I’d be back in a couple of hours. When I got to the party, they’d had to cancel it because the child’s grandma had died suddenly. Jordan was upset, so I said we’d go home and Peter would take us all to the Wimpy. As I opened the front door, I could hear Matilda crying. I thought she’d fallen over and hurt herself, but as I listened more carefully I realised it was something much worse. “Please stop, Peter, you’re hurting me,” she was pleading. Twelve years old, that’s all she was.’

‘Oh my God,’ Frankie whispered. She had guessed what was coming next.

‘I told Jordan to be quiet and sit in the living room, then I took the dagger out of the drawer. It had once belonged to Dennis, but I had always kept it after I split up with him, as it made me feel safe. I crept upstairs and saw the bastard with my own eyes. Matilda was naked from the waist downwards and Peter was raping her. I tiptoed into the room and then I stabbed him in the back over and over again, until the breath and blood seeped out of him.’

Frankie was crying herself now. She thought she’d had it tough with Jed, but it was nothing compared to what poor Babs had been through. ‘You won’t get life. If you tell the jury the truth, they’ll let you off, I know they will.’

‘I can’t. Apart from you, I’ve told nobody. I told the solicitor I killed Peter because he used to beat me up.’

A good judge of character, Frankie now decided that Babs was the real deal, totally genuine. She urged her to listen to what she had to say. ‘I’ll have a word with my dad if you like. He’ll find you a good brief to represent you. Babs, you must tell the truth for the sake of your children. I know your mum is looking after them, but they need you, especially Matilda.’

Babs shook her head furiously, then put her hands protectively on her rounded stomach. ‘I will never put my Matilda through a court case and let’s not forget, I’m carrying that evil bastard’s child. I love my children more than anything else in the world, and to protect them, I’m willing to keep my trap shut and do life.’

Eddie Mitchell stared at the clock on the kitchen wall. He had promised himself he would make a decision by midnight and he had ten minutes left to do so. He poured himself another Scotch and stared at the now empty bottle. Jessica used to hate him drinking the stuff, said it changed him as a person and made him violent. Well, tonight he’d done at least three quarters of a litre, but he wasn’t drunk and had only been drinking to help him make a decision. Picking up his glass, Eddie walked into the lounge. A big photograph of his dad was on the opposite wall to Jessica’s. It had been taken on his dad’s sixtieth birthday at the restaurant where they’d all celebrated and Harry looked as large as life, with a big grin on his face and a fat cigar in his hand. Ed stared at the photo and smiled sadly. He still missed his dad dreadfully and he would never rest until he found out who had murdered him so brutally. One day Ed would find out, that thought kept him going, and when he did, he would torture those responsible before he actually killed them. He began to speak, his voice full of emotion.

‘I’ve had to make a decision, Dad, and I want you to know that it’s been the most difficult one of my life. I would like to shoot every O’Hara tomorrow. I could easily kill the fucking lot of ’em, but I can’t because of everything that’s happened and I would hate to see Frankie’s kids end up in care. I’m gonna plan my revenge carefully. Last time when I tried to kill Jed, I went at it like a bull in a china shop and look what happened – I lost my beautiful Jessica and I’ll never forgive myself for that. This time around, I need a proper plan. Things have to be perfect and, when they are, I’ll use my loaf, keep my wits about me and strike. I hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to tell you, but there’s a good chance Ronny and Paulie will be arriving at the Pearly Gates soon. I don’t want that to happen and I’ll be devastated if and when it does, but I really do have little choice in the matter. Ronny and Paulie have dug their own graves, unfortunately, and I have to put the safety of my children first and also Gina and Raymond, who both mean the world to me. Please forgive me, Dad, and if you see Ronny and Paulie before me, tell ’em I love ’em and I’m sorry.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘Mummy! Come back, please, Mummy. Don’t leave me! I promise I’ll be good.’

Harry O’Hara woke up and rubbed his tired eyes. At three years old, Harry was eighteen months younger than his sister, Georgie. To look at they were chalk and cheese. Harry was a pale-skinned, chubby blonde boy, whereas Georgie was very tall for her age, skinny, with long, dark hair and dark skin. Harry got out of bed, toddled over to his sister and prodded her arm.

‘Georgie, what a matter?’

Georgie sat bolt upright and began to cry. She kept having the same awful nightmare. Her mum would come back home, then she would walk out and leave her again.

Harry clambered onto his big sister’s bed. Georgie was the only one who would give him a cuddle these days. His mummy used to give him loads, but whenever he asked his dad, nanny Alice, or grandad Jimmy for one, they all laughed at him. ‘Stop being such a sissy, Harry. You’re a big boy now and big boys don’t need cuddles. Cuddles are for babies and girls, you dinlo,’ his dad would tell him.

Georgie and Harry huddled together in silence. The last month had been awful for both of them. Firstly, their mum had disappeared, then on the day they’d found out that they had a brother called Luke, he’d had his brains blown out in front of them.

‘Are you thinking of Luke?’ Harry whispered.

Georgie shook her head. ‘I was thinking of Mummy.’

‘Can we go see her, Georgie?’

Georgie didn’t answer immediately. Nanny Alice had told her that her mum was in prison because she’d tried to kill her dad, but Georgie didn’t believe it. Her mum would never do something like that, she was too nice. Hearing movement on the landing outside, Georgie turned to her brother, so her mouth was next to his ear.

‘If I tell you something, you won’t tell anyone, will you, Harry?’

‘Promise, Georgie.’

Ever since Georgie first learned to walk, she’d had a habit of running away and exploring. Once, when her uncle Joey had taken her to a pub, she’d hidden in the woods, climbed up a tree and watched the police search for her. She loved an adventure; it was part of her nature.

‘You know yesterday when Grandad drove us home?’

Harry nodded.

‘I think I saw Nanny Joycie’s and Grandad Stanley’s house. It wasn’t far from here, so maybe we can run away and they can take us to see Mummy.’

For the first time in weeks Harry’s eyes lit up. He liked Nanny Joyce and Grandad Stanley and, most importantly, they always gave him cuddles. ‘Can we go there now?’ he whispered.

About to reply, Georgie was stopped in her tracks by the bedroom door opening.

‘Up you get, yous two. Come on, now. Nanny Alice is gonna do us all a nice big fry-up. Bath first, then breakfast after.’

When her nan turned her back, Georgie put her forefinger to her lips to warn Harry to keep schtum. She then held his hand and led him out of the bedroom.

Jimmy and Jed O’Hara had got up at the crack of dawn and gone over to the fields to check on the horses. It had been cousin Sammy’s job to feed them and keep an eye on them while Jimmy and Jed were away, but by the looks of the stallion lying on the grass, he hadn’t done a very good job.

Neither Jimmy nor Jed could be described as animal lovers. Jimmy owned a goat that he rather liked, but he’d sold all the dogs now, and the horses were just a way of making money.

Jed knelt down and looked into the stallion’s eyes. ‘He don’t look good, Dad. I think you’d better ring a vet.’

‘Nah, he’s had it, boy. It’ll be cheaper to shoot him meself,’ Jimmy replied.

As they headed off to get the gun they kept hidden nearby, the conversation turned to Alice.

‘She seems much brighter now, Jed. Did her the world of good spending time with Tina and the kids.’

Jed agreed. Tina was his brother Marky’s wife. The last month had been awful for all of them, none more so than himself. Marky had been murdered, then Jed’s son Luke had been shot by mistake. The bullets had been meant for Jed, and Lukey boy had died in Jed’s arms. Jed had thought he would never smile again at the time – he wished he was dead instead of his boy – but, unlike the boy’s mother, who had literally fallen to pieces, he’d had to pick himself up and carry on. As a proud travelling lad, he had no choice other than to put on a brave face, but what had happened was eating away at him inside, like a fast-spreading cancer, and he would never be truly happy until he got revenge for his brother and Lukey boy.

‘What’s happening with Sally? Why don’t you invite her round for dinner, that’ll cheer your mother up no end,’ Jimmy suggested.

Jed shrugged. Sally was Luke’s mother, and she was also pregnant with their second child. Unlike Frankie, whom his mother had despised, Sally got on like a house on fire with Alice.

‘Why you shrugging? You ain’t split up with her, have you?’

‘Nah, but I’ve barely seen her since Lukey boy died. I’ve only met up with her twice since her father came round and poked his fucking oar in. She’s still staying at his, and when I rang her earlier to tell her I was home, she came out with some cock and bull about having gut ache. I reckon her old man has told her to keep away from me.’

‘Or she could be telling the truth, Jed. Perhaps the girl ain’t well. How far gone is she now?’

Jed smirked. ‘I dunno. Men don’t take much notice of dates and times, do they? She’s probably about three month, at a guess, but what with that slag Frankie being pregnant at the same time an’ all, I didn’t really listen.’

As they reached the field again, Jimmy turned to his son and smiled. ‘I know it’s been a tough few weeks for you, boy, but you’ll get through this, I know you will. None of us will ever forget Lukey boy, he was a little diamond, a chavvie to be proud of, but you and Sally will have plenty more chavvies. Take my advice and look after that Sally – she’s a good girl, your mother likes her and you could do a lot worse.’

Without waiting for a reply, Jimmy marched over to the stallion, put the gun to its head and dispassionately shot it.

Eddie Mitchell was not in the best of moods. He’d drunk far too much Scotch the previous evening and even though he hadn’t felt drunk at the time, this morning it had made him feel sluggish and heavy-headed. Even a shower hadn’t made him feel any better; it had actually made him feel worse. Ed got dressed and studied himself in the mirror.

With his six-foot frame, his couple of days’ trademark stubble and his short dark hair, which he’d recently started to wear slicked back to cover the odd strands of grey, he looked good for fifty-three and he knew it. He’d always been broad-shouldered, but when he’d been banged up for accidentally killing his wife Jessica, he’d trained a lot in prison through boredom and he’d walked out of those gates with the toned body of a thirty-year-old.

Turning his head slightly to the right, Eddie fingered the scar down the left-hand side of his cheek. Women had always loved it – they said it made him look rugged – and men had always been jealous of it, wishing they had one to make them look as manly, but he’d always fucking hated it. It wasn’t the actual scar itself: if someone other than Jimmy O’Hara had put it there, he would have probably been quite proud of it, but the fact that his worst enemy had scarred him just reminded Eddie every day how much he hated O’Hara.

The shrill ring of the landline interrupted Eddie’s foul mood. It was Stuart, his old cellmate from Wandsworth.

‘One week to go. One week to go. I’m counting down the hours, and I can’t fucking wait,’ Stu sang to the tune of ‘Here Comes the Bride’.

Despite his own problems, Eddie had to laugh. Stu had recently been moved to an open prison and he seemed to have the use of a phone morning, noon and night.

‘What’s been happening, mate? How’s Gina?’ Stuart asked.

‘Yep, everything’s fine and Gina’s just popped to Tesco,’ Eddie lied. He wasn’t one for talking over prison phones and he hadn’t told Stu any of the recent gossip. He would tell him everything when he picked him up next week. ‘Listen, Stu, I’ve gotta shoot out, I’m running late as it is. Bell us later if you can and don’t worry, your bed’s all made up here and Gina insists you can stay as long as you like.’

Ending the call, Ed wanted to smash the phone against the wall as the bastard rang again. ‘What?’ he screamed into the receiver.

‘Ed, it’s me. Are you OK?’ Gina asked.

‘Sorry, babe. I thought it was one of the boys.’

‘When can I come home, Ed? I’m pulling my hair out here through boredom.’

‘Soon. I’m going to sort things out right now – that’s if I ever get off this poxy phone,’ Ed said sarcastically.

‘Oh, sorry, go on, you get off and ring me as soon as you get things sorted. I can’t wait to see you again. I love you, Ed.’

Eddie returned the compliment, apologised for being snappy, then ended the phone call. The thought of what he was about to do next was making him feel physically sick. What type of man signs his own brothers’ death warrants? he pondered, as he searched high and low for his keys. He found them down the side of the armchair and, as he stood up, he came face to face with his father’s photograph.

‘I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, Dad.’

Alice O’Hara was feeling more positive than she had in weeks. Her son and grandson being murdered had knocked her for six, but visiting Marky’s widow and his two sons had somehow helped her come to terms with her grief. Her daughter-in-law, Tina, was a tough cookie and she had given Alice a serious talking-to. Tina had made her realise that no amount of screaming, crying and self-pity were going to bring Marky or Lukey boy back and, for the sake of the rest of the family, she needed to get her act together.

Singing along to Hank Williams’ ‘Lovesick Blues’, Alice carried two large china plates over to the kitchen table. On one there were sausages and bacon and on the other black pudding and fried bread.

‘Get stuck in and I’ll bring the eggs and beans over in a tick,’ she said.

Georgie stared at the two big plates in horror. The meat was swimming in grease and she hated that black stuff and the horrible bread that her nan cooked.

‘Nan, can me and Harry have Rice Krispies instead?’ she asked.

‘Don’t start, Georgie. You need to get some meat on them bones of yours, so you eat what Nanny gives you,’ Jed shouted.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Jimmy said as the doorbell rang. He hated being disturbed at mealtimes; it pissed him off big style.

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