Bannerman, even through word of mouth, you’re a dead woman, June. So have a little think, and if you come up with anything, knock on my door.’
Maureen walked from the house, shutting the door quietly behind her and feeling the urge to cry.
This was too complicated now, far too complicated.
Even she was frightened.
June looked at the clock. It was just after nine on Christmas morning. But that would not bother the Bannermans or the Davidsons. It would be a normal working day for them. Going into the bathroom, she stood on the toilet seat and pulled open the heavy lid of the toilet cistern. Taking out the water-soaked plastic bag, she removed the documents inside and placed them inside her panty girdle.
After she’d finished dressing she plastered her face with make up. Then she picked up the rest of the kids’ presents and began the long walk to her old home. Inside she was trembling. The Bannermans were the most terrifying family in London and she had something they wanted.
Inside her bag was a huge amount of money and she knew that if she had any sense she would walk to the train station and disappear.
But she also knew that wasn’t an option.
Wherever she went they would find her.
What she had to do now was think clearly and decide what to do next. Damage limitation was on her mind now, not money.
Mickey Bannerman had practically beaten to death a man who had complained about his dog barking. Mickey lived in a nice road in North London, the man he had beaten was a banker. He had walked away from the Old Bailey on a charge of attempted murder because the victim had refused to give evidence.
Even a well-heeled banker had seen the error of his ways, so where would that leave June McNamara? Up shit creek without a paddle was her final decision and June knew that it was the right one. She would talk to Joey, see what he knew. He worked for the Davidsons, he might be able to sort it.
All along the roads Christmas trees stood in windows, their coloured lights cheerful in the darkness of the cold winter’s morning. Children were opening presents and women were preparing breakfast and Christmas dinner.
June felt ill with worry now, a physical sickness inside her because she realised she had taken on something she could not hope to pull off.
There was no escape and nowhere to hide.
Susan was so pleased to see her mother she nearly cried. After two hours spent with her father she felt fit to scream. Joey was still in bed and the stench in his room of stale sweat and alcohol had made her feel sick.
When he had finally fallen into a light sleep she had attempted to move from the bed but an arm like a steel band had pulled her back. Lying there in the early-morning light she wondered what had happened to him to make him do these things to her.
By focusing on Barry Dalston, schoolwork, and finally just blanking her mind completely, she managed to get through the night. In her mind’s eye she kept thinking of poor Jimmy being shot and the picture affected her, made her want to cry. He had been kind to her, had Jimmy. Had always given her a bit of his time.
No wanting her to sit on his lap or give him kisses she didn’t want to give. He’d treated her as an older man should treat a girl.
As she had finally slipped from the bed at five-thirty she had felt a terrible urge to go into the bathroom, run a bath and slit her wrists while lying in the warmth. Then Debbie had woken up and started her usual morning moans and it had taken all Susan’s will-power not to slam a fist into her sister’s face. With the arrival of her grandmother, she’d felt as if God Himself had turned His back on her.
The old witch had driven her hard for hours: preparing more vegetables, making a trifle and cups of tea. It was a never-ending spiral of work.
Debbie as usual was asked to do nothing but look pretty and chatter about her little life. When June arrived it was as if the light infantry had knocked on the door to save
Maureen walked from the house, shutting the door quietly behind her and feeling the urge to cry.
This was too complicated now, far too complicated.
Even she was frightened.
June looked at the clock. It was just after nine on Christmas morning. But that would not bother the Bannermans or the Davidsons. It would be a normal working day for them. Going into the bathroom, she stood on the toilet seat and pulled open the heavy lid of the toilet cistern. Taking out the water-soaked plastic bag, she removed the documents inside and placed them inside her panty girdle.
After she’d finished dressing she plastered her face with make up. Then she picked up the rest of the kids’ presents and began the long walk to her old home. Inside she was trembling. The Bannermans were the most terrifying family in London and she had something they wanted.
Inside her bag was a huge amount of money and she knew that if she had any sense she would walk to the train station and disappear.
But she also knew that wasn’t an option.
Wherever she went they would find her.
What she had to do now was think clearly and decide what to do next. Damage limitation was on her mind now, not money.
Mickey Bannerman had practically beaten to death a man who had complained about his dog barking. Mickey lived in a nice road in North London, the man he had beaten was a banker. He had walked away from the Old Bailey on a charge of attempted murder because the victim had refused to give evidence.
Even a well-heeled banker had seen the error of his ways, so where would that leave June McNamara? Up shit creek without a paddle was her final decision and June knew that it was the right one. She would talk to Joey, see what he knew. He worked for the Davidsons, he might be able to sort it.
All along the roads Christmas trees stood in windows, their coloured lights cheerful in the darkness of the cold winter’s morning. Children were opening presents and women were preparing breakfast and Christmas dinner.
June felt ill with worry now, a physical sickness inside her because she realised she had taken on something she could not hope to pull off.
There was no escape and nowhere to hide.
Susan was so pleased to see her mother she nearly cried. After two hours spent with her father she felt fit to scream. Joey was still in bed and the stench in his room of stale sweat and alcohol had made her feel sick.
When he had finally fallen into a light sleep she had attempted to move from the bed but an arm like a steel band had pulled her back. Lying there in the early-morning light she wondered what had happened to him to make him do these things to her.
By focusing on Barry Dalston, schoolwork, and finally just blanking her mind completely, she managed to get through the night. In her mind’s eye she kept thinking of poor Jimmy being shot and the picture affected her, made her want to cry. He had been kind to her, had Jimmy. Had always given her a bit of his time.
No wanting her to sit on his lap or give him kisses she didn’t want to give. He’d treated her as an older man should treat a girl.
As she had finally slipped from the bed at five-thirty she had felt a terrible urge to go into the bathroom, run a bath and slit her wrists while lying in the warmth. Then Debbie had woken up and started her usual morning moans and it had taken all Susan’s will-power not to slam a fist into her sister’s face. With the arrival of her grandmother, she’d felt as if God Himself had turned His back on her.
The old witch had driven her hard for hours: preparing more vegetables, making a trifle and cups of tea. It was a never-ending spiral of work.
Debbie as usual was asked to do nothing but look pretty and chatter about her little life. When June arrived it was as if the light infantry had knocked on the door to save
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