Toxic: The addictive new crime thriller from the best selling author that will have you gripped in 2018. Jacqui Rose

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СКАЧАТЬ tried to pull the men apart. She appealed to Vaughn. ‘This is Franny we’re talking about. She ain’t going to rip you off, is she? None of this is Alfie’s fault. I know you’ve had it tough these last few months, but see sense, Vaughn.’

      ‘Have you forgotten that Franny is the daughter of Patrick Doyle, one of the biggest gangsters there was?’

      ‘No, but …’

      ‘But nothing Lola. The apple don’t fall far from the tree, does it?’

      Lola, not enjoying hearing Vaughn saying anything negative about her friend, put her hands on her hips as she stood in front of him. ‘Vaughn Sadler, have you ever, in all the time that you’ve known Franny, had any reason not to trust her?’

      ‘No, but …’

      ‘But nothing, right back at you. If Franny says she’s been delayed, then she’s been delayed. It’s going to be fine.’

      Vaughn, unable to help himself, snapped at Lola. ‘In less than a month’s time we are supposed to be finalising the deal with Reginald Reynolds’ widow to buy his pitches, pay off who needs to be paid off to get the bookies’ licences, as well as recruit and pay a trusted team of men that we can have around us. Tell me Lola, how the fuck are we supposed to do that now? More to the point, how are you expecting me to keep calm when some bird is floating round the Costa with two million big ones in her back pocket?’

      ‘Vaughn, love—’

      ‘No, Lola! Hear me out. Reginald did us a favour by putting us first in line for his business. Everybody wanted it, and you know that. Once we get it up and running – if we do – it’ll mean we won’t have to think about money again, but now, thanks to this muppet, there’s a chance we could lose this opportunity.’

      Alfie glared at Vaughn. ‘Stop winding yourself up, mate. It’ll be fine.’

      ‘Will it? It better be, because I’ve risked everything on this. Sold everything I had right under me missus’ nose and because of that, she’s gone and left me. That money is all I’ve got.’

      ‘It ain’t only yours.’

      ‘No, but it wasn’t me who gave the money to Franny, was it?’

      Alfie, always one to be hot headed, said, ‘Look, so she’s delayed, it’s no biggie. You’re acting like someone’s robbed your fucking grave. And as for Casey, maybe you should’ve been more honest with your missus, perhaps that way she might not have done a runner, or maybe it was just her excuse.’

      Vaughn went to swing at Alfie but pulled back as Lola stepped in his way. She smiled at him, hating seeing them argue. ‘Vaughn, lovie, please. Alf’s right, you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing. Franny will be here soon, and as for Casey, she’ll come round and see sense. Once she understands you did it for your future, she’ll be fine about it. I’ll have a word with her if it helps. Look, how about instead of all this arguing, which ain’t going to do any of us any good, why don’t I make you all some breakfast?’

      The resounding cry of ‘no’ was heard round the room as everyone present remembered the days of Lola’s café, which she’d run in Soho for years. Her breakfasts had been infamous.

      Lola shrugged. ‘Then at least kiss and make up. Come on, Vaughn. Alf, how about you?’

      Neither of the men moved and Lola sighed. She’d known and loved Alfie and Vaughn for as long as she could remember, meeting them in Soho back in the day. In all that time she’d never known the two men have so few options, but then, they may never have come back to England otherwise. She hid a small smile. Every cloud.

      Vaughn, ignoring Lola’s plea for reconciliation, spoke to Alfie, his voice full of hostility.

      ‘And what are we supposed to do for money until Franny comes? What are we supposed to tell Reginald’s widow?’

      ‘We tell her nothing because there’s nothing to tell. And in the meantime, we stick to our plan. We let everybody know we’re back and we mean business. Essex is ours for the taking.’

      ‘Just the two of us?’

      ‘Yeah, because they won’t know that, will they. We give it large like we always did. And in a couple of days Franny will be here, and then we’ll have the money to recruit some of the people who used to work for us. It’ll be sweet.’

      Vaughn looked at Alfie. ‘Okay, but I’m telling you, Franny needs to be here by the end of the week.’

      Janine, who’d been unusually quiet, piped up. ‘And you’ve got here. You can both stay here with me.’

      ‘See, there’s an offer no man can resist.’ As he said it, Alfie rolled his eyes causing Janine to let out a screech.

      ‘I saw that! Did you see that, Lola? Bleedin’ fucking cheek. I don’t know why I bother. You should be thanking me, Alfie. You should be grateful.’

      ‘Grateful! I’d be more grateful to an arse full of piles.’

      Seething, Janine turned to Lola. ‘I knew this was a bad idea. I should never have listened to you. I’m a mug. That’s what me mates said when I told them I was going to let you stay. They said, Janine. You. Are. A. Mug.’

      Lola pushed Janine and Vaughn gently out of the door. She smiled at Alfie. ‘Why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs for a nice cup of tea.’

      ‘Thanks Lola, I’ll be there in a minute.’

      ‘And Alfie, it’s good to have you back … I missed ya. Both of ya.’

      Hearing the others heading downstairs, Alfie pulled out his phone. He stared at the text from Franny.

      Please don’t be angry Alfie, but something’s come up. It’s probably better if you don’t know what. But trust me when I say, I wish it could be different. I won’t be coming to England. One day you’ll understand why I’ve done this. If it’s any consolation, I do love you. F.

      Dialling Franny’s number, it switched straight onto voicemail. Speaking quietly Alfie hissed through his teeth. ‘Franny, it’s me. You better start picking up the fucking phone, you hear me? Just pick up the fucking phone. I want my money.’

      He clicked off the call before hurling the phone against the wall, wondering which was greater, his broken heart or his anger.

       3

      Stepping out of his silver Audi Q5, which had seen better days, Eddie Styler lit a cigarette, admiring as he always did the mock-Tudor cladding he’d had fitted last year on the large, five-bedroom property on the private gated estate, just south of Emerson Park, Essex.

      The place was a far cry from the run-down council block in South London he’d been born and brought up in, where drug addicts shot up on stairwells and anyone passing who cared to used the lobby as a giant urinal.

      Unlike his childhood home, which he’d been ashamed of, number 25 Colney Close impressed, making him the envy of СКАЧАТЬ