TWO

Michelle woke up on the sofa to be greeted by the hangover from hell. As the events of earlier that day came flooding back, she cursed herself for letting fly at Terry. She was now a hundred per cent sure that he was having an affair. She was his wife for God's sake and women just know these things.

The smell of perfume on his shirts. The fact he left his mobile locked safely in his glove box. She'd even gone as far as sifting through his dirty underwear, checking for stains and that unmistakable smell of sex. She might be a lot of things but silly wasn't one of them. Give him enough rope and he'll hang himself, that had always been her motto, and now she'd gone and blown it. After the earlier showdown he'd be more careful than ever at covering his tracks. Jackanory would have been proud of Davey Mullins' version of events. There were more holes in his story than a pair of fishnet stockings. Swanley my arse, she thought as she gingerly lifted herself off the sofa. Her head was pounding and was making her feel sick. Deciding that the only thing to perk her up would be the good old-fashioned hair of the dog, she headed towards the kitchen. An Alka Seltzer and two vinos later, she started to feel like her old self. Her headache had gone, her hands had stopped shaking and she felt ready to face another day. Hearing footsteps, she froze for a second, thinking it was him. Once she realised it was only Billie, she breathed a sigh of relief.

'Oh it's you. I thought it was your dad.'

Plonking herself down at the kitchen table, Billie came straight to the point. 'Is it all right if I stay at Tiffany's tonight? It's her dad's birthday and they've invited me to go for a meal with them.'

Billie knew the answer would be yes before she'd even finished the question. Her mum didn't give a shit where she went, what she did or who she was with. If she said she was going out with Fred and Rosemary West for a meal, her mother would have OK'd it. Her dad was a different kettle of fish. He wanted to know where she was going, who she was with, spoke personally to all of her friends' parents to check arrangements, and made sure she had a lift to and fro.

'Of course you can stay at Tiff 's.' Michelle breathed a sigh of relief. It was her best friend Hazel's birthday and she'd arranged to go out later with her and the rest of the girls from the gym. The fact she now didn't have to rush back suited her down to the ground, let Sleeping Beauty upstairs have a taste of his own medicine. See if he liked it, if she stayed out all night. Surreptitiously retrieving the wine glass that she'd shoved behind the microwave when Billie had first entered the kitchen, Chelle turned to face her daughter.

'I'm going upstairs to get ready now, Bill. You have a nice time tonight.'

'Thanks,' Billie said, watching her mother swan out of the kitchen.

Trying on outfits galore, then chucking them on the floor in a temper as she realised they no longer fitted, Michelle felt like screaming. Making as much noise as she could to try and wake the no-good bastard sleeping in the next room, she opted for her old faithful black pinstriped suit. Looking in the mirror did nothing to enchant her mood. She instantly decided she was rejoining Weight Watchers first thing Monday morning.

Once he heard the front door slam and his wife's Mercedes pull off the drive, Terry jumped out of bed. He'd been pretending to be asleep for the last hour, even acting out a couple of snores. Hearing his old woman getting ready, he'd guessed she was off out somewhere and rather than facing a Spanish Inquisition, he'd decided to stay put until she'd left. Casually he wandered downstairs.

'Morning, Princess.' Putting his big arms around his daughter, he pulled her close and held her tightly. Billie hugged him back and looked up at him.

'Where was you last night, Dad? Why did you stay out all night? You might have known Mum would kick off.'

'Oh, don't you start on me as well.' Terry felt guilty as he looked at his daughter's worried face. Deciding to bluff it, he carried on. 'I'm a businessman, Bill. I had some shit to sort out. Now forget last night, eh, what do you wanna do this afternoon?'

Billie didn't really feel like doing anything. She'd had very little sleep and was yet to recover from the shock of her mum trying to stab her dad. Seeing her dad's hurt expression at her lack of enthusiasm, she put on her best false smile. 'I wouldn't mind going to Lakeside to get a new outfit for tonight.'

Returning her smile with a false one of his own, Terry told her to get her arse in gear and be ready to go in ten minutes. 'Bollocks,' he muttered, as soon as she was out of earshot. He'd rather go to the dentist and have his teeth pulled out than spend a Saturday afternoon being dragged around Lakey. Four hours later and four hundred quid lighter, Terry loaded Billie's bags onto the back seat and started up the engine. His little princess hadn't been her usual bubbly self today and he was a bit worried about her.

'You all right, babe?'

'Yes fine, Dad,' she lied.

Terry decided she must still have the hump over the silly row they'd had earlier. Standing by the doorway of Top Shop while Billie mooched inside, he'd noticed two boyband lookalikes, mid-twenties, clocking his daughter's arse and making suggestive comments about her. Just as he was about to go over to the bench where they were sitting, drag them up by their scrawny little necks and teach them a lesson, Billie had seen what was going on. Screaming at him, she'd given him what for.

'If you show me up in the middle of Lakeside, I swear I'll never talk to you again. I'm not a kid any more, Dad. I'm a young woman and boys are bound to look at me from time to time. I'd have to be a minger if they didn't. You're so overprotective with me, Dad, you make me sick at times.'

Agreeing with her just to keep the peace, Terry had casually slung his arm round her shoulder, giving the two lads in question his most evil look as he passed them. He had what he called a hidden camera lodged inside his brain. Not one to ever forget a face, he debated whether to return to Lakeside alone, hunt down the two little fuckers responsible for the argument and show them exactly whose daughter they were dealing with. Calming himself down, he decided against it. They were only kids after all.

'Oi, waiter, bring us another bottle of champagne over here pronto, will ya?' Proudly perched on her chair in the Chigwell restaurant, Michelle was now enjoying herself immensely. With her voice increasing in volume by the second, she was the life and soul of the party.

Rushing over to the table from hell, Antonio shakily topped up the glasses and quickly made an exit. Four years he'd been working as a waiter in this restaurant and he absolutely hated the sight of this particular group of women. They normally came in on the first Saturday of every month and he'd had such a gutful of them over the years that he'd managed to wangle that particular Saturday as his day off. Now here they were, as bold as brass, on the second Saturday of the month. That was just his bloody luck.

Unable to cope with their drunken, abusive behaviour, Antonio feigned a migraine and swiftly left the restaurant.

'Bye, Princess, have a nice time tonight.' Terry smiled as he watched his daughter walk up her best friend's driveway. Once he made sure that the door was opened and she was safely inside, he sped off to pick up Davey Mullins.

After drinking the restaurant dry of champagne, Michelle was in her observant mood. Sitting quietly, she surveyed her group of friends. They'd all met working out together at their local gym, and over the years had disclosed their innermost secrets to one another. They'd joked that one day, when they were older, they would sit down and write a book about their unusual lives.

Hazel Short was the first not-right that Michelle had palled up with. Forty-three years old with long blonde hair and a body to die for, Hazel had seemed quite normal at first. She was a typical Essex bird with a bubbly personality to match, but they say you should never judge a book by its cover and this turned out to true, as Hazel turned out to be anything but normal. After marrying young to an ageing ex-bank robber called Stan and producing three children in quick succession, Hazel was very happy with the cards she'd been dealt. With plenty of money shoved into offshore accounts for a rainy day, Hazel was the brains behind Stan's thieving. Stan would nick it and Hazel would stash it and together they made a very good team.

As time went on Stan moved into the pub protection game. Within a year, things went tits up and he got a ten stretch for torturing some poor bastard in the back room of a boozer along the Barking Road. Six months into his sentence, Stan keeled over with a heart attack and promptly snuffed it. Overnight Hazel became a very rich lady indeed.

Julie Beale was the next not-right to become Chelle's friend. At forty-six years old, with the voice of a man and the body of a Russian shot putter, at first glance she could seem quite scary. An ex-prostitute, Julie had spent the latter part of her working life employed as a madam at a massage parlour in Ilford. A substantial inheritance left by one of her regular clients had led to her taking an early retirement.

The final member of the Fab Four went by the name of Suzie Robinson. At thirty-five years old, she was the baby of the gang. Happily married to Richie who owned a scrapyard in Rainham, Suzie had seemed quite square compared to the rest of them. It wasn't until one evening when they'd been caning the wine all day, that her story bubbled to the surface. She had done a year in Holloway for an offence to do with her first husband, Trevor. Once released, Suzie left him and ran off up north with the eighteen-year-old brother of one of her former inmates. Sick of feeling like his mother, Suzie had had enough within a year and headed back down south. A year later, she married her current husband, Richie.

Michelle's thoughts were interrupted by Georgie the owner telling them that their cab was outside.

Sitting in a backstreet boozer in Stepney Green, Terry began to get agitated. Giving Davey Mullins the nod to go up to the bar, Terry moved towards the lying little bastard sitting opposite him.

'Look, don't fuck with me, kid. I know for a fact your story don't ring true, 'cause I've checked it with the other lads. No one else could have had that money away, bar you. Don't take me as some kind of a cunt, believe me that'll be the worst mistake you'll ever make. Now, you've got until next Saturday lunchtime to get the money you've chored back to me. Think yourself lucky, Paul, that I'm good pals with your uncle, 'cause believe me, you wouldn't have such an easy ride if me and Archie weren't muckers. Now, I know where you live and I'm sending Davey Boy to pick up the dough. Once you've paid, I want you to get out the area. If I ever see your ugly mug again, Paul, I swear as God's my judge, I'll gut you like a fucking fish.'

Paul Cox could feel his bowel loosening as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Terry Keane frightened the life out of him and in all his twenty-seven years, he'd never met anyone with such evil eyes, piercing blue and pure fucking evil.

He could visualise himself being chopped up into little pieces and ending up in concrete, propping up one of the flyovers along the A13. He knew in that instant that he wasn't cut out for this kind of work, dealing with these kind of people. He'd only got involved as a favour to his Uncle Archie, who was currently in the Scrubs taking a holiday at Her Majesty's pleasure. Archie had needed someone he could trust for a while to take over the reins and Paul had offered to lend a helping hand. Realising he'd made a big mistake by being light-fingered, Paul downed his bottle of Becks and rose unsteadily from his seat.

'Look, I'm really sorry, Tel. I'll have your money back by Saturday, I promise.' On exiting the run-down pub, Paul found the nearest kerb and retched.

Michelle looked at the minicab driver and snarled, 'You're taking the piss. You ain't getting thirty-five, you robbing bastard. I'll give you a score.' Ali hated being a minicab driver. He made his own fares up as he went along. The worse the customer, the more he charged. Snatching the money, he breathed a sigh of relief as the abusive, drunken women got out of his car. Furious, he opened his window. 'I know where you live, you English bitches. I will be back.' Pulling her trousers down, Michelle gave him a flash of her fat arse. Hazel, Julie and Suzie opted for wanker signs.

In stitches, the girls spilled into Hazel's kitchen. 'I'll be back,' Hazel said, mimicking an Indian accent.

'Fucking Delhi's answer to Arnie Schwarzenegger,' Chelle screamed. Crying with laughter, the girls fell onto Hazel's kitchen floor.

Over in Stepney, Terry's face was like thunder. He'd had a proper little deal going for years now, with an old boy from Bethnal Green who answered to the name of Archie Cox. Archie and Terry had originally been introduced by Terry's old boss, Benny Bones, and over the years they had built up an honest and trustworthy friendship. The little scam they had going had brought in bundles over the years and until recently was infallible. Buying up write-offs from salvage yards that were badly damaged but not mangled beyond recognition, the motors were loaded onto recovery trucks and driven out to the remote outskirts of Cambridgeshire, where they owned a couple of yards in the middle of nowhere. They would then call on the services of the top-class young car thieves who were on their payroll, to go out and steal the exact same model. The stolen vehicles would immediately have the number plate removed and swapped for the write-offs. They would then be driven out to Cambridgeshire in the middle of the night where three trustworthy mechanics would swap all the parts over, change the chassis number and make them reasonably untraceable. In reality, the original vehicles were stripped down and ceased to exist. The newly built motors were then shipped abroad to start a new life.

Terry and Archie didn't bother with any middle of the range motors, all the vehicles involved were top jolly, including Mercs, BMWs, Jags and Range Rovers to name but a few.

They had over a dozen salvage yards dotted across the south-east that notified them of any suitable vehicle and readily accepted a large backhander for their trouble. It was an easy little scam, and very profitable, but just lately things had started to get a bit on top of them.

Archie Cox, who organised all the shipping and was also the man that had all the contacts, had started to become greedy. At fifty-eight and already as rich as any fucker would ever need to be, Archie had decided to retire at sixty and head off to live in his villa in sunny Marbella.

Being a gluttonous bastard and also becoming a bit careless in his latter years, Archie decided that he could improve on his income and he recruited a few extra lads to do some motors up locally. He was hoping his new venture would pull in at least another fifty grand a month.

Terry had adamantly wanted nothing to do with Archie's new idea. He'd told him he must be bonkers to change a system that had worked so well for years and he'd insisted he was playing with fire. Archie should have listened to the advice he was being given, as six months later the Old Bill raided a yard just off the Bow Road and found three of the ringers. Archie was jailed for four years.

Terry wasn't surprised when he heard about the arrest. Archie had played too close to home. He had no worries about the old boy opening his mouth. He was one of the old school and would rather have his bollocks cut off than grass up a mate. Terry felt so sorry for the poor old sod. He couldn't understand why a man who had the credentials of Baron Rockefeller would choose to be so greedy in his last couple of working years. Nothing like that would ever happen to him while he had a hole in his arse; he was far too clued up to go down that road.

Years ago, Terry could easily have taken over Archie's contacts and run the show himself, but he'd chosen not to. He'd rather pay the old boy a percentage, which is what he'd done for the last fifteen years. Archie took sixty per cent of the profits and Terry took forty. What's ten per cent if it keeps your name out of the equation?

Not once had Terry ever been hauled in by the Old Bill. He was sure the filth was aware of him as he had his finger stuck in many pies, but he was a background man and that's the way he liked it. He made sure that he kept well away from the dodgy motors, the thieves and the yards. He had a lackey boy to do all his shit jobs for him and this was probably the reason why he'd kept his nose clean for so many years. In Terry's world you had to trust your instincts, and at this present moment he had a real bad feeling about Archie's quivering wreck of a nephew. If Paul got his collar felt, he'd sing like a songbird, his type always did.

Terry decided to get Dave or one of the other lads to pay Archie a visit in the Scrubs. Someone had to inform the poor old sod that his nephew had turned out to be a wrong'un. Terry wouldn't go personally; the less he was linked with Archie the better.

Noticing his pal had something on his mind, Davey Boy aimed a playful punch at him. 'What's up, Tel? You don't seem yourself tonight, mate, you're knocking 'em back like they're going out of style. What's the matter?'

'I'm all right, mate. I'm just stressed. That cunt Cox has put me in a bad mood. If he weren't Archie's nephew, I swear I'd fucking kill him. You know what I'm like, Dave, I hate being had over.'

'Don't worry about him, Tel, the geezer's a cock.'

Terry gulped at his drink. He felt weighed down with worry.

'That's what worries me. Now Cox has been working with us, he probably knows too much. Archie's a fucking nuisance bringing him into the fold.'

Dave shrugged. Terry rarely went on a downer, but when he did, he was hard to snap out of it. Dave decided to change the subject. 'We've got old Albie's wedding next week, ain't we?'

Terry sighed. He was dreading the occasion. 'Wonderful, I'm taking Chelle with me. All her gym cronies are going. There's bound to be some fucking fiasco, you mark my words.'

Taking a sip of his Budweiser, Dave smiled at his pal. The poor bastard looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. 'I'll get my Lisa to sit with Chelle and keep an eye on her. She'll be fine, you'll see.'

Terry wished he could share his friend's optimism. Michelle behave? That was a joke. It was odds-on that the fat cow would show him up in some way, shape or form. He hated weddings, he really did. Every time he attended one it reminded him of the biggest mistake that he'd ever made. Still, he wouldn't have to suffer it much longer. This time next year, he and the wildebeest would be separated and awaiting their divorce.

Unknown to Michelle, Terry had been preparing for the occasion by offloading many of his assets. Chelle knew nothing about what he owned and what he didn't. All she knew was that he had two houses, which he rented out to students, the car lot and their own house.

What Chelle didn't know was that, over the years, he'd purchased four other properties, which he'd rented out. Most of the tenants had been Albanian or Bosnian and the DSS had eagerly paid whatever rent Terry had demanded.

When Archie got arrested, Terry wondered if it was wise to have so many properties in his name, just in case someone came sniffing around. It was that thought, and the fact that he didn't want Chelle to get her grubby paws on them, that had made him decide to get rid of them. He'd sold all four of them on the cheap in cash-only deals to fellow business associates of his with the tenants still intact.

Davey Mullins was looking after half of his cash for him. The other half Terry had hidden in the safe at the car lot. He'd told no one it was there, not even Dave. He trusted Dave more than life itself, but in this day and age you could never be too careful. Money did strange things to people.

The minute he walked out the door, Chelle would find herself the best brief money could buy. She would then try and cane him for every penny he had. Terry was as sure of this as he was sure the Pope prayed. He knew he'd have to cough up a large pay-off settlement for her, but considering the fat lazy bitch had never done a day's work in her life, there was no way he was letting her get her mitts on anything she didn't know about. Terry couldn't wait until his life consisted of just him, Billie and Jade. In his eyes, that day couldn't come quick enough.