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telling him that what he was about to do was wrong and, with his dad’s guidance, Ed knew things would work out OK. ‘I’ve gotta go and meet O’Hara now. We’ll talk again later in the week.’

      Full of his usual self-assurance, Eddie ignored the worried looks that were being thrown his way and bowled confidently out of the door.

      Joey snatched the glass of brandy out of his grandmother’s hand. He darted out to the kitchen, poured it down the sink and then gave her what for. He hadn’t lost a day off work to watch her drink herself to death.

      ‘Drink is what sent you loopy the last time, Nan. Now tell me exactly what happened and I’ll help you find Grandad,’ he said kindly, as he sat back down on the sofa.

      ‘I don’t wanna find him. I hope the nasty old bastard rots in hell,’ Joyce replied dramatically.

      Joey smiled. He could see through his nan’s façade, her hard exterior. Deep down she loved his grandad and even though she rarely had a good word to say about him, she was a lost soul without him.

      ‘Shall I ring Jock? My guess is that Grandad’s stopping with him. What happened anyway? You haven’t even told me yet, Nan.’

      Joycie finally broke down as she repeated what had happened and the names Stanley had called her. ‘I only went to meet Eddie so I could sort things out between you and him. I wanted you and your dad to get on ’cause I know your mum would have wanted it,’ she wept.

      Joey put both of his arms around his nan and held her tightly. Stanley Smith was a weak man and his nan would never have lasted that many years married to a man with more balls. She was a woman who liked to have the final say, make the decisions, and a stronger man would have divorced her yonks ago.

      ‘I’ll ring Jock now. Is his number in your address book?’ Joey asked.

      Joyce nodded tearfully. ‘He must be at Jock’s, ’cause he took them stinking, bastard pigeons with him,’ she said.

      Joey released his nan’s grip, stood up, flicked through her address book and dialled Jock’s number. ‘Hiya Jock, it’s Joey, Stanley’s grandson. Is my grandad there? Only I’m at my nan’s house and she wants to speak to him.’

      Joey listened to Jock’s reply and instantly felt rather nauseous. He couldn’t leave his nan alone until his grandad returned, and he had his own bloody life to be getting on with.

      ‘Well, can you make some phone calls, see if you can find out where he’s gone, Jock?’ Joey thanked Jock for his co-operation, then replaced the receiver and turned to Joyce.

      ‘He’s not there. Jock said they had a big row at some restaurant and he hasn’t seen or heard from Grandad since.’

      Joyce shot off the sofa as though someone had put a bullet up her arse. She had noticed Stanley acting strangely a lot recently; he kept disappearing at lunchtimes, saying he was going for a ‘little drive’, and she could have sworn blind she’d smelled women’s perfume on his clothes two or three times in the past few months. She walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a brandy for the shock.

      ‘Please, Nan, don’t drink any more,’ Joey pleaded.

      ‘Don’t fuckin’ drink any more! I need a bastard drink. Your grandfather has gone and got himself a bit of fluff, Joey, and when I find out who the old slapper is, I’m gonna wring her bleedin’ neck until her tits fall off. Little drive! I’ll show him what a little drive is when I drive that knife straight through his bollocks.’

      Eddie Mitchell grinned as he heard Gina’s car pull up outside. He deemed himself too cool to run outside to meet her, but he was no good without a woman by his side and to say he had missed her was putting it mildly.

      The handover with O’Hara had gone to plan. There had been few words exchanged. Jimmy had pulled up in a pick-up truck, Eddie had got out of his own motor, handed him the dosh, then walked way and driven off. O’Hara had smirked when the dosh was handed over to him, Ed had clocked that, but he wasn’t worried, as he knew he would have the last laugh. ‘Good things come to those who wait,’ his dad used to say.

      When the front door opened, Ed walked into the hallway.

      ‘I have missed you so much, Eddie,’ Gina said, as she threw herself into his arms.

      Eddie grinned, then kissed her passionately. He only had to look at her to feel his dick go rock hard. ‘Let’s go to bed, eh?’ he whispered.

      Usually, Gina would have run up the stairs, but not only was she ravenous, she also had something on her mind that had been plaguing her for the last few days. ‘As much as I fancy you Ed, we need to talk first. I’m also starving. Have you been shopping or shall we get a takeaway?’

      Thrown by the matter-of-fact tone in Gina’s voice, Eddie lifted her chin with his hand and stared deep into her dark-brown eyes. ‘You ain’t gonna fuck me off, are ya? Don’t tell me the first bit of agg we’ve had, you’re bolting, babe.’

      Gina looked at Eddie’s handsome face. No, she wasn’t impressed by being shoved off to her friend Claire’s house for weeks, but she loved Ed dearly and would never leave him, no matter what he did.

      ‘Ed, I love you more than I love myself. How can you even ask such a thing?’

      Eddie pushed her long, dark hair away from her forehead. ‘Something’s wrong, I know it is. Tell me.’

      Gina smiled. Nothing was wrong, everything was right, but for once it wasn’t just herself she was having to think about, it was another little person. ‘There’s nothing wrong. I’m pregnant, Ed.’

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      Terry Baldwin sat in the Thatched House in Barking with a glum expression and a pint of Guinness. His wonderful grandson’s murder had left Terry stunned and heartbroken. He’d fucking loved that kid, idolised every hair on his little head.

      Purgatory would be the best way to describe the six weeks since Luke had died. Terry’s daughter Sally had been distraught, in absolute bits and, even though she was pregnant, had hit the bottle big style.

      ‘You’re gonna be burying another baby if you carry on like that,’ Terry had warned her only yesterday.

      ‘I’m so unhappy living here. I need to move back in with Jed. Please say I can, Dad. You can’t keep me away from him for ever. I love him.’

      Sick of watching Sally necking the wine night after night, Terry had reluctantly agreed that she could move back in with her no-good, pikey arsehole of a boyfriend. When Luke had first been murdered, Terry had turned up at the O’Haras’ and ordered Sally to return home so she was safe and they could grieve and cry together. Terry had hoped that she would leave Jed for good, especially when she learned from the police that Frankie was also pregnant in the nick with the toerag’s child, but it wasn’t to be. The silly little cow was going back to him for now, until Terry found a way to get the piece of shit out of her life for good.

      The pub door opened and Terry nodded as Jamie Carroll sat down opposite him. Jamie was a fixer and whether you wanted a firearm, a dodgy motor got rid of, or some bastard assassinated, Jamie could fix it for you.

      ‘What you having to drink?’ Terry asked.

      ‘Nothing, I’ve gotta be in Shoreditch in half an hour. You got the boodle?’

      Terry nodded. ‘Shall I give it to you here?’

      ‘No. I’ll leave first; you finish your beer and meet me outside in five minutes. I’m in a silver Jag.’

      Obeying Jamie’s orders, Terry sipped his pint. He then stood up, checked nobody was watching him and left the pub. He spotted the Jag at the far end of the car park and walked towards it.

      ‘Shall I get in while you count it? It’s in bundles of a thousand.’

      Jamie

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