used a filleting knife. He’d felt no remorse on that occasion, none whatsoever. The incident had happened inside a packed carvery. He’d been a young lad at the time, happily tucking into a roast lamb dinner when he spotted a boy from school. Martin Mabbutt came from a big, loving family, and resentment and hatred had flooded the Enemy’s thoughts as he’d lunged towards him. He’d ended up stabbing Martin twice and his interfering father once. Both had lived, but he’d revelled in the havoc he’d caused and how close he’d come to killing them.
Breaking into a jog, he felt pure adrenaline pump through his veins as he inched closer to his prey. He glanced around again. The coast was clear. This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for. He pulled out the knife and was about to plunge it in Vivian’s back when he heard a voice shout ‘Rex!’
The Enemy discreetly slid the knife back inside the satchel, before locking eyes with a bloke who asked, ‘You seen a black-and-white dog?’
‘Nah, mate. Sorry,’ he replied, before crossing over the road. The geezer had got a very good look at him, and he wasn’t stupid. Revenge would have to wait until another day.
Chuffed with the container-load of spirits he’d just shaken hands with Eddie Mitchell on, Vinny Butler was celebrating the deal with a spirit or two himself. ‘I haven’t seen you since the Deborah Preston drama, have I? Did you hear what happened, Ed?’
‘No.’
‘Deborah, the delightful mother of my ex-bird, Joanna. Well, she only went and made a home-made bomb with the intention of blowing up my club.’
‘You what!’ spluttered Eddie, spitting his Scotch back in the glass.
Vinny laughed. ‘Honest to God. A nail bomb it was, the Old Bill told me. Her son tipped ’em off, apparently. Turned out she blamed me for Joanna and Johnny’s deaths and had gone off her rocker. They’ve carted her off to the funny farm now, thank Christ. That’s all I’m short of, some psycho bird lobbing bombs my way.’
Eddie Mitchell shook his head. ‘I’ve never met the woman, but she sounds a proper nutjob. Speaking of the Prestons, how’s your Ava doing?’
‘Good, mate. Settled in well. Buying her that mutt helped. Took her mind off her mother’s death, and she barely mentions Jo now.’
Eddie Mitchell studied his pal as he chirpily continued to chat about Ava. This wasn’t the first time it had crossed his mind that Vinny’d had something to do with Joanna’s death, but surely not? Even Vinny Butler would not stoop that low to get custody of a kid – would he?
‘I’d never have hurt Jo. You know that, don’t you, Ed?’ Vinny lied. ‘Me and her might not have always seen eye to eye, but she had a good heart and was a decent mother.’
It was now Eddie’s turn to lie. ‘I know you better than that, mate. It never even crossed my mind. How’s your mum keeping? If Ava’s living with her now, you really should consider getting your mum a gaff out my way. Whitechapel’s had its day, like the rest of the East End. Unrecognizable from when we were kids. The schools are far better in Essex.’
Vinny explained he’d been badgering his mother to move, without success, then told Eddie about Brenda’s latest escapade. ‘I’m embarrassed to call her my sister, Ed. I goes to the hospital to try and help her and she threatens to grass me up to the Old Bill about things that happened years ago. Mum’s insisted I leave her to get on with it. I wanted to give the geezer a right pasting, obviously – cheeky bastard. I mean, you don’t hurt a woman, do ya? Even a nightmare like Brenda.’
‘I feel your pain, Vin. My Ronny’s more of a hindrance to me than a help. I cringe every time he starts opening his trap after a bevvy. Mouth starts running away with him and he’s a fucking liability. However, if I had a sister and a bloke clumped her, I’d have to give him a dig. That geezer took a massive liberty. Bren’s your flesh and blood.’
Vinny had no feelings for his sister whatsoever, but nodded in agreement. If Eddie Mitchell thought giving Dave a pasting was the right thing to do, then he would. He might not love Brenda, but he adored a bit of violence.
Having seen her sister arrive home, Queenie gave it half an hour, then strutted up her path and rang the bell.
‘Oh, it’s you. What do you want?’ Vivian asked, pursing her lips.
‘Us to get back to normal. Can I come in? Only if Nosy Hilda sees me standing on the doorstep, the whole of Whitechapel will know our bloody business.’
Secretly pleased that Queenie had made the first move, Vivian marched into the kitchen and put the kettle on. ‘Spoke to me like shit you did, Queen. So hurtful, some of the things you said.’
‘I feel exactly the same about the stuff you said to me. Why don’t we just forget all about the row? We’re both as bad as one another when we lose our rag. If Mum were still alive, she’d bang our bleedin’ heads together.’
When Vivian and Queenie argued as kids, they’d always make up by linking their little fingers together and singing a rhyme. It was Viv who held hers out first.
Queenie chuckled as their fingers entwined. ‘I’ve missed you, you miserable old cow.’
‘Not as much as I’ve missed you, you cantankerous old bat.’
Talk about things coming in threes, Michael Butler pondered to himself. First, he’d had to sack two of his bar staff for thieving. Then his ice machine had broken. Now the toilet in the men’s was blocked. It was the end to a perfect day – not.
Depending on the day and people involved, Michael would occasionally hire his club out privately. Today was one of those days when he wished he hadn’t. Irish Danny had been a big old lump who’d probably killed himself due to his love of food. The club was packed with rowdy Irish relatives and there had already been two punch-ups.
Sighing as he heard yet another alcohol-fuelled rendition of ‘Danny Boy’ being belted out over the mike by some pisspot, Michael poured himself a Scotch, sank back in his leather chair and swung his legs on top of his office desk. He shut his eyes and was disturbed seconds later by a pounding on the door. ‘What?’ he yelled.
‘You’ve got a visitor, boss.’
‘Who?’
‘A beautiful lady.’
Michael leapt up and kicked the leg of his desk with frustration. Katy had been stalking him via phone all day and he’d told her not to come here tonight. ‘Send her in,’ Michael spat. No way was he going to succumb to her charm. The only fuck she would get tonight would be him telling her to ‘fuck off’.
He was pouring himself another drink when the door opened. He turned, ready to treat Katy to a barrage of abuse, then dropped his glass in shock.
‘Bella!’ he exclaimed.
As dawn broke the following day, Michael and Bella were still trying to sort out their differences. Michael wasn’t happy with Bella’s explanation as to why she’d disappeared for months. It had hurt him beyond belief when she’d told him she was staying away because she ‘needed
