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Certain details in this book, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
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First published by HarperElement 2017
FIRST EDITION
© Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee 2017
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover photographs © Alexander Vinogradov/Trevillion Images (posed by model); Paul Gooney/Arcangel (street scene)
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Source ISBN: 9780008142797
Ebook Edition © April 2017 ISBN: 9780008142780
Version: 2017-03-06
Contents
Also available in the Notorious Hudson Family series
Gurdy knew something wasn’t right the very second Paddy put his foot to the floor. Why the hell had he agreed to get in his car? Why the hell hadn’t he just said he’d follow him to wherever they were going on his own?
It had been a strange Tuesday morning all told. It had started normally enough – he’d gone to work in the garage, just as Paddy had asked him to the previous evening – but no Paddy himself – he’d simply not showed – even though there was a car they were supposed to be working on and he knew there were things Gurdy couldn’t deal with on his own. He wasn’t a fucking mechanic after all, was he?
And still no sign of Paddy, as the morning wore on, even though he’d said he’d be there around nine, after dropping Vicky off at work. So Gurdy had cracked on – daydreaming about DJ Steve, formulating his grand plans in Leeds – the latter ever more urgent now that brown had been brought into the equation. That was one line he was never going to cross. No way was he getting involved in dealing heroin.
But there was only so much he could do to the car. Paddy knew that. So when, by half eleven, Paddy still hadn’t showed, Gurdy began to get anxious.
Either he’d had to do something unexpected for Mo and couldn’t call, or – worse – the fucking cops had pulled him in again. Which wouldn’t have surprised Gurdy, even though he fervently wished it otherwise – Paddy had been dealing coke so fucking blatantly on Sunday and Monday that it was almost like he was asking to be arrested again. Like they’d have to do it as a public bloody service.
Then the call from him, finally, just after twelve. ‘Meet me at the lock-up at one.’ No ‘Hello’, no ‘How are you?’ No explanation for his absence. Just the order barked at him. To which Gurdy’d obviously said okay. Then locked the garage, got in his Mini and drove there.
He grabbed the door handle, for stability. And now this. Paddy weird. Paddy
