he got that, but what he didn’t get was how he could be so calm about Franny. Even the name wound him up. He could feel the anger towards her running around his body. The woman had turned them over and the truth was, although he was pissed with Alfie, he hadn’t seen it coming either.
He’d known Franny and her father, Patrick Doyle, for many years, and he would’ve put his last pound on the fact that she wouldn’t have ripped him off. Problem was she took his last pound anyway. And it was like a razor blade slicing at his skin. She’d fucked it up big time for them, and they needed to salvage the situation before it was too late.
‘Christ!’ All eyes turned to look at Vaughn, who had without thinking, slammed down his fist on the table, knocking over the milky tea Lola had made him earlier, sending it flying.
Lloyd scanned him darkly. ‘Problem?’
‘No, mate. Just a pesky insect.’
‘You often do that?’
Vaughn glanced around, seeing the broken teacup on the floor. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What can I say? I hate flies.’
Silence fell and the only noise was the distant hum of the cars on the bypass.
Lloyd pushed again. ‘So, come on then? What have you got for me?’
Vaughn, directing his anger at him, snapped, ‘That’s the fucking thing. We ain’t got anything for you. There wasn’t anything in the truck.’
Lloyd twisted round to look at his men, then opened his arms wide to stare at Alfie before crouching down to Vaughn’s eye level and very carefully said, ‘You better be fucking kidding me. I might’ve given you a squeeze by letting you have that job, but I was still going to get my cut, so don’t think you can treat me like a mug.’
Smelling the cologne Lloyd was wearing, Vaughn curled up his nose. ‘Thing is Lloyd, I’m not, and unless this was your idea of a sick joke, I want to know why, when we put our necks on the line, you didn’t check your source properly that his information was correct. You should’ve known the only thing those horses were filled with was shit. Have you any idea how many pieces of fucking crap we went through?’
Lloyd’s eyes darted everywhere. Agitated, he wagged his finger. ‘No, this can’t be right. You’re telling me you found nothing?’
‘Exactly.’
Kicking one of the rattan chairs over, Lloyd raised his voice. ‘That’s bullshit!’
‘No Lloyd, horseshit. Lots and lots of horseshit and not much else.’
Panting, Lloyd eyeballed Vaughn and Alfie. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘What don’t you believe?’
Lloyd bellowed, his voice becoming an octave higher as he screamed, red-faced at Vaughn. ‘That the tooth fairy is real … What the fuck do you think I mean?’
Evenly, Vaughn said, ‘Just checking.’
Lloyd took a swing at Vaughn before diving on him, tipping him backwards on the chair. Both men went down, but it was Vaughn who scrambled up first, wiping the blood off his face.
He raged at Lloyd. ‘I’m telling you the truth! There was no coke! It’s screwed us up as well. We were banking on being able to knock that out and get some money behind us. It ain’t just you who’s agged about it. Think how we feel. You ain’t really lost nothin’, but we have got a lot riding on it.’
Lloyd listened. Watched. And then slowly said, ‘You’re being straight up, aren’t you?’
With his hands resting on his knees, and bending forward, Vaughn turned his head to look at Lloyd. ‘Too right I am.’
‘And what about the horses?’
‘As arranged, dumped off at the sanctuary.’
‘And you checked properly? The sanctuary won’t suddenly find themselves knee-deep in bags of nose candy?’
‘I swear on all that is precious Lloyd, there wasn’t any coke.’
Alfie cut in. ‘But maybe you knew that Lloyd, maybe you thought the lorry was transporting something else.’
As Lloyd stared at Alfie, Vaughn studied him closely, watching the genuine look of curiosity spread across his face. ‘Like what, Alf?’
Alfie shrugged. ‘You tell us.’
Bewilderment furrowed Lloyd’s forehead. ‘What the fuck are you on about?’
Vaughn glanced at Alfie, but spoke to Lloyd. ‘Nothing, mate. We’re all a bit pissed off, but I guess we’ll just have to put this one down as the one that got away.’
Wednesday turned into Thursday and Bree Dwyer found herself hurriedly pushing the trolley round the small supermarket in Saffron Walden. She was trying to push the unease away, trying to forget what she saw in Kieran’s bag, whilst praying that the tribute band recording of Cliff Richard’s greatest hits – which was on a loop and being played throughout the store – would stop.
She checked her watch. The fourth time in less than five minutes. If she didn’t get a move on the shopping list would go out the window, and she’d have to abandon the packets of crisps, burgers and iced gems, like she so often did.
Time was always her enemy. An hour and a half. That’s all she had. All Johnny had given her. His present to her. Her time limit. To drive, to park, to get everything she needed, but every breath, every turn, robbed her of time.
Inanimate objects stealing those precious seconds: her purse to find the change for the carpark meter; her trainer lace needing to be tied. But she’d learnt the hard way. Over time. Throughout many beatings. She’d learnt that preparation was the key.
And so everything she did was calculated to the minute with military precision. Before she set off the money was already sorted in the glove compartment. The trainers replaced with slip-on shoes. It didn’t matter if there were roadworks or traffic, because it was her job to get back. Because that was the only way. Fail to prepare, prepare to … well, she didn’t like to think of it, to think about one of Johnny’s lessons he liked to teach her.
She sighed, the grimness of the place exacerbating the sense of emptiness she felt. The half-stacked shelves. The empty aisles save an intoxicated old man. The bargain bins of processed own-brand tins. It wasn’t her choice to come here, she would’ve rather gone to the new shopping centre further down the road, but that was at least another fifteen minutes. And that wasn’t even an option.
Oh God, how she longed to run. To throw down the spaghetti hoops and run to the car. To keep on driving. Past the petrol station, past the lay-by, past the roundabout and just keep on going. But she knew. Johnny knew. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not on her own. Not now. Not ever. So however tempting it was to get back in the car and never look back, she always did. She always looked back and she always returned home.
Bree glanced down at her watch again. It was getting late. She was annoyed with herself. Thinking had slowed her down, and now the line at the checkout had three people in it.
Deciding to leave the washing-up liquid, which was over in the next aisle, Bree rushed over to the till, behind the drunken man, behind a pregnant woman whose basket was filled with discount vodka and Cherryade.
Watching as the checkout man – Steve, according to his name badge – chewed and blew bubbles whilst trying but failing to get a packet of porridge oats to scan, Bree pushed down the sense of panic.
Indifferent to the rising impatience of the queuing customers, Steve excruciatingly slowly picked up a grey phone which was partly hidden under the five-pence bags. He spoke into it. His voice crackling over the store’s speakers