Backstabber. Kimberley Chambers

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      Michael grabbed the brandy bottle and topped his father’s glass up, then his own. ‘You got any food in the fridge? You didn’t eat at the wake, did ya? I’ll make you something.’

      ‘I’m not hungry, lad. But thanks anyway. Be turning in her grave, will Vivvy, and truth be known I hope I don’t wake up tomorrow. I’ve had enough of this world, Michael. I’m tired, I’m old, and I want to see Vivvy again. And our Roy, Adam, Oliver, Brenda and Molly. Got more family up above now than down ’ere.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Your mum’s always blamed me for Molly’s death, seeing as it was my bastard son that did it. But I had nothing to do with the way he was brought up – I never even knew the kid existed. It wasn’t me that made him a killer. So I reckon your mother has far more blood on her hands than me. I’ve often wondered if Vinny was born evil, but I don’t believe he was. It’s your mother’s doing, the way he’s turned out. Queenie was determined to mould her first-born into a crime lord to match the bloody Krays. I remember how she used to look up to Violet Kray back in the day. She’d see the way shopkeepers would let Violet jump the queue and make a big fuss of her, how everyone kowtowed to her, and she was jealous. That’s what your mother craved: notoriety and adulation. And with no way of achieving that in her own right, she was determined yous boys would do it for her. It’s her that’s evil, boy, and she has blood all over her hands after today’s shambles. Lovely lad, our Oliver. What a waste of a bloody life. And I’ve always thought the world of Sammi-Lou. Why is it always the good ones that suffer and not the bad souls? The devil certainly looks after your mother and Vinny,’ Albie spat.

      Shocked by the viciousness in his usually mild-mannered father’s words, Michael was taken aback. ‘Mum ain’t evil, Dad. She is what she is. Today wasn’t her doing. As for Vinny, we all know he’s got a streak, but he has calmed down of late. I bet he’s as shocked as anybody. Ahmed and Burak vanished years ago – why wait until Auntie Viv’s wake to turn up, hell-bent on revenge? It just doesn’t make sense.’

      ‘Of course it makes bleedin’ sense! They were gunning for your brother and, as per usual, he got away unharmed while others weren’t so lucky. How you can stick up for Vinny or your mother after that Bella turnout, I will never know. Your mother moulded Vinny into the money-grabbing power-loving fruitcake that he turned out to be, and Vinny chose to pal up with Ahmed in the first bloody place. Had he chosen his friends more wisely, Oliver would still be alive and Sammi-Lou would not be at death’s door. You need to wake up and smell the coffee, boy. The evil in this family will outlive you, if you’re not very careful. You mark my words.’

      Head bowed, Eddie Mitchell felt desolate as he leaned against the wall and lit a cigar. Stuart’s motor was parked up in Stratford, but no way could he face travelling back to Essex in the vehicle the two of them had been laughing and joking in only this morning. He got all choked up just thinking about the way he’d been taking the piss out of his future son-in-law’s girly-looking air freshener and his rubbish taste in music.

      ‘I’m gonna have to get off in a bit, if that’s OK?’ Raymond stated and asked at the same time. His wife’s parents were coming over to theirs for dinner and Polly would have his guts for garters if he did not turn up. It was her mother’s birthday.

      ‘Yeah – you get off. And you, Gary,’ Eddie muttered. He’d originally met Stuart in prison. They’d shared a cell together and bonded almost instantly. Stu was far more than a pal or employee to Eddie. The lad was like another son to him.

      ‘I haven’t got to be anywhere. I’ll come to Frankie’s with you. Have you switched your phone back on yet? Frankie isn’t silly, ya know,’ Gary reminded his father.

      ‘I rang Joey. She’s been trying to ring me and Stu, but she don’t know anything yet. Joey took her out for something to eat, like I told him to. I couldn’t even tell him on the phone Stuart’s dead, so fuck knows how I’m gonna explain that to Frankie. She’s bound to blame me. So will Stu’s mum, I bet. Best I pluck up the courage to pay her a visit tomorrow an’ all. It’s what Stuart would’ve wanted me to do.’

      Gary put a comforting arm around his father’s shoulders. Life had toughened him up to the point that not much fazed him these days. ‘Let’s call a cab, eh? I’ll do the talking when we get to Frankie’s. We need to be strong, Dad. Frankie’s gonna need us more than ever now. Poor little cow ain’t destined to find happiness, is she? Perhaps those bastard gypsies cursed her after all.’

      Meg Allen darted along the hospital corridor with her youngest daughter by her side. She and Millie had been spending a relaxing day being pampered at an Essex health farm when Meg had checked her phone messages. Gary had left one, telling her there’d been an incident and she needed to make her way to the London Chest Hospital in Bethnal Green as soon as possible.

      ‘Whatever’s happened? And why haven’t you been answering your bloody phone? We’ve been worried sick,’ Meg Allen screamed at her husband. She and Millie had thought of every scenario possible and panicked throughout the journey. Meg had come to the conclusion her husband must have endured some kind of heart failure, but here he was, fully dressed, and apart from looking a bit peaky he seemed as right as rain.

      Gary Allen was not a man who shed tears easily. Even when he’d buried his dear old mum last year, he’d managed to keep a stiff upper lip during his moving eulogy. However, Sammi-Lou was his first-born and he’d doted on her since day one. As for Oliver, unlike the other two horrors his daughter had given birth to, he truly was the perfect grandson. Gary had idolized the lad, even as a baby.

      Having never seen her dad cry before, Millie was frightened. ‘Where’s Sammi-Lou and the boys? Is it Little Vinny? Has something bad happened to him?’

      Gary Allen put one arm around his wife, and the other around his daughter. ‘There was a shooting at the wake. Two masked men burst in. Oliver didn’t make it, and Sammi-Lou is critical. Her heart stopped, and …’

      Meg Allen pushed her husband away. ‘Oliver didn’t make what? A shooting at a wake! Where is Sammi now?’

      ‘Surely you don’t mean Oliver’s dead, Dad? That’s ridiculous. And Sammi’s heart can’t have stopped,’ Millie Allen shrieked.

      When Little Vinny suddenly appeared, his white shirt covered in blood and a doctor in tow, the realization suddenly hit Meg and Millie Allen full in the face. It was then Meg became hysterical.

      Frankie Mitchell wasn’t daft. She knew when Joey had turned up out of the blue earlier, demanding to take her and the kids out for something to eat, that her father must have told him to do so. No doubt her dad had enticed Stuart to get rat-arsed at the wake and now he was feeling guilty, trying to put her in a good mood so she wouldn’t bite Stuart’s head off when he rolled home. Or at least, that’s what she’d assumed.

      ‘No. Don’t put the TV on,’ Joey shouted, snatching the remote out of Brett’s hands.

      ‘But Mum says I’m old enough to watch The Simpsons now,’ Brett complained.

      Frankie snatched the remote out of her brother’s hand. ‘You’ve been acting bloody weird ever since you got here. I reckoned Dad sent you because him and Stuart are bladdered, but you’re so twitchy it’s starting to freak me out. So come on, Joey, tell me: what’s going on?’

      All Joey knew was that there had been a shooting at the funeral his father had attended, and Stuart had been wounded. When his dad had rung back again, about an hour or so ago, he’d offered no more information. His orders were to keep Frankie away from the TV and radio; Eddie promised he would explain all when he arrived at Frankie’s himself.

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