happens in my life, you come first. You have always been my number one and you always will be. Nothing or no one will ever come between me and you, you know that, don’t you?’
Billie nodded, her eyes filling up with tears.
Terry felt emotional himself. Determined not to make a prick of himself, he stood up.
‘I’m gonna pay the bill now. Thank you, Billie. You’re the best daughter that any man could wish for.’
The Jade subject wasn’t mentioned any more that day. No more words were needed. Everything had been said.
Pulling up outside Tiffany’s, Terry kissed Billie Jo on the cheek.
‘Now you have a lovely time, babe. If you want me to pick you up tomorrow, give us a bell and I’ll come and get you.’
Loaded with bags, Billie got out of the car.
‘Love you, Dad.’
‘I love you too, Princess.’
Smiling, Terry headed towards Gidea Park.
Davey Mullins had been well up for a night out. He was sitting indoors bored shitless when Terry had rung him and had jumped at the chance of a drinking session. He and Lisa still weren’t on speaking terms and she’d sodded off round to her mother’s for the day. He was beginning to realise he’d made a big mistake moving Lisa in with him. A month they’d been living together and already they were fighting like cat and dog.
Hearing a toot outside, Dave eagerly climbed into the Range Rover. ‘Where are we going, Tel?’ he asked excitedly.
Terry briefly switched the engine off as he hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘I dunno, mate. What do you fancy doing? We could head up to Johnny’s pub up the East End or we could head out to Essex. Old Maxie Boy’s bound to have something going on tonight and we ain’t had a beer with him for ages, have we?’
Maxie Allen owned a boozer out in Blackmore and lived in a big house next door to it. Originally from the East End, Max was a typical old-school publican. He loved having his pals around him, loved a late one and was also partial to a bit of powder.
Dave weighed up Terry’s ideas. Johnny’s pub was live-lier, but Max was a gearhead. ‘Let’s go and see Max, eh, Tel?’
Terry grinned to himself as he restarted the engine; he could read old Davey Boy like an open book!
Maxie Allen was holding a private party for his friends and family. He was over the moon when Terry and Dave walked in unexpectedly. The three of them went back years and it was only because Max hated Terry’s fat drunken wife that he hadn’t sent them an invitation in the first place. The fact they’d turned up on their lonesome suited Max down to the ground.
After spending the evening being treated like royalty, knocking back champagne and shoving gear up his hooter, Terry was now bored shitless and wanted to leave. Maxie Allen he loved to death, he really did. He had a great deal of time and respect for the man. It’s a shame the same couldn’t be said for Maxie’s friends, who in Terry’s eyes were the biggest bunch of wankers he’d ever come across. Real villains never boasted about their wealth or who they knew; plastic gangsters were the opposite. After being lumbered for twenty minutes with some penis who’d been rambling on about being related to the Krays, Terry had now had a gutful of it. He was fed up, agitated and was kicking himself for not going up the East End. Terry loved the pub in Stepney. It was full of proper people with proper stories. In fact, it was the complete opposite of the hellhole he was currently stuck in.
Excusing himself from Mr Kray’s so-called cousin, Terry spotted Dave at the bar, mauling some ginger-haired rough old sort. He immediately walked over to his friend and slapped him on the back. Dave released his tongue from the minger’s throat and turned towards him. ‘You all right, Tel? Good night, innit?’
‘I’m knackered, Dave. I’m leaving in a minute. Do you wanna come with me or are you staying here?’
Dave looked at the bird standing next to him. Black miniskirt, tattoos on her arm and back, she looked like something off the Jerry Springer Show. She was rough, but bang up for it and that’s all that mattered. The gear made Dave feel horny and he was determined to shag someone’s brains out tonight. He’d had a shit Christmas Day, which was all Lisa’s fault, and he was desperate for some fun.
‘I think I’m gonna stay here, Tel. I’ll give you a bell tomorrow.’
Terry glanced at his watch and saw it was half past twelve. Surely if he left now he wouldn’t have to walk into a remake of One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Chelle might still be up, but the rest of the nutters should be in bed by now.
Terry hugged Maxie, thanked him for a good night and walked outside to his Range Rover. Starting the engine, he opened the windows and appreciated the bitter cold air. It had been a shit Christmas, probably his worst one ever. Jade he missed something chronic, much more than he thought he would, and although he’d spoken to her for ages on the phone, it just wasn’t the same as having her nearby. He was so used to seeing her every day, she was always at his beck and call and he realised he’d become far more attached to her than to any woman from his past. He wished he had never suggested she visit her parents, as he was struggling to enjoy himself without her.
Sorting through his CD collection, he chose a country and western compilation for the journey home. Terry was a big country music fan and his daughter had been named after Billie Jo Spears. He’d wanted to call her Tammy or Dolly after Wynette or Parton but Chelle hadn’t liked either name, so they’d agreed on Billie Jo. Terry wanted to talk to Jade more than anything else in the world, but decided against calling her. To ring her at one in the morning would be taking the piss. She was bound to be asleep and he didn’t want to wake up Tubbs and Crockett. Texting and Terry didn’t really go together but he decided to have a bash. It took him ten minutes to punch out a message which read:
‘I miss you so much, Jade. Don’t stay the whole week, I’m lost without you. Ring me in the morning and I’ll arrange to pick you up. Night, babe, love you.’
Cranking up the volume, Terry joined in with Patsy Cline’s ‘I Fall to Pieces’ and began his journey home.
Approximately twenty miles away, Sonny Ryan and Freddie Boy Smith had been out drinking all day and all night. Seventeen and nineteen years old respectively, they were novices of life but thought they knew it all. Travelling boys through and through, they were roofers by day and naughty boys by night. After playing pool all day at a pub in Woodford, the boys had happened to overhear of a twenty-first birthday party being held in a nearby hall. Deciding to gatecrash the event, they were now knocking back the free drink at the bar and doing their best to impress the two little birds that were standing by their side looking at them adoringly. Realising that their luck was in, Sonny pulled Freddie to one side.
‘We’re in here, Freddie. The bar’s gonna shut in a minute, where we gonna take ’em?’
‘Let’s go up to Sammy’s place, eh?’
Sonny looked at him and smiled. ‘Good idea. I’m teaching you well, Freddie Boy. We’ll have to use the van again though.’
‘I’m sure we’ll be OK. The gavvers are so busy this time of year, they ain’t going to be looking for no hooky van.’
Sonny and Freddie had been drinking in Romford on Christmas Eve
