Tesco took that as his cue to get up and leave. He made sure Harry could see he was in no hurry. As he got to the door, he said, “I’ll be right back then, Harry.”

  Harry was already dialing a number. He didn’t look up. “Mister Rawlins to you, son.”

  Tesco thought he was joking and laughed. But when Harry turned to look at him, he knew he was serious. Tesco nodded and walked out.

  Bella had rented her little one-room flat to Carla, a black girl she’d once worked with in a show. They’d become good friends, but Carla wasn’t exactly pleased to see her when Bella arrived. She’d expected to have the flat for at least three months, and now she was going to have to find somewhere else.

  “Sorry, darling,” Bella said, “but that’s just the way life goes.” Once she saw what a mess the flat was in, however, she eased up a bit. Carla would need some time to clean up. “Tell you what, I’ll book into a hotel tonight, but tomorrow . . . sorry.”

  Carla walked Bella to the door and put her arms round her. “That’s OK. Things didn’t work out, eh?”

  For a moment Bella looked as though she was going to cry. Then she just shrugged. “No, no, they didn’t. See you tomorrow then, kid. I’m sorry about this.”

  Carla shut the door, leaning on it for a moment. Ohhh, shit. Now what am I gonna do? she thought. She went and picked up an old suitcase and started throwing her clothes into it.

  Harry liked the fact that Gordon Murphy didn’t question his miraculous reappearance. Harry was alive, and that’s all that seemed to matter. Murphy was a big man, six foot two, and well-built but still slim-looking. He wore tinted, rimless glasses, which gave him a slightly chilling look. He had brought Harry a bottle of vodka, wrapped in tissue paper.

  As he handed it over, he said, “I remembered your tipple, Harry. Vodka, that’s right, isn’t it?”

  Harry smiled, slapping him on the back. He put the bottle on the coffee table, while Murphy went into the kitchen and found some glasses. Harry poured two large measures, and the two men clinked glasses and took a good belt.

  “Good to see you, Harry.”

  Harry patted his arm. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m around, yeah?”

  “Sure, Harry.”

  Harry knew his secret was safe with Murphy. He refilled their glasses and they both had another drink. Murphy put his glass down.

  “So, you need me to do something for you, Harry?”

  “Yeah, Gordon, I do.” Harry proceeded to tell Murphy as much as he needed to.

  Murphy listened in silence, then said, “If these girls know where Dolly is, then I’ll find her.”

  Harry smiled. “I knew I could rely on you, Gordon.” He looked embarrassed for a moment. “Look, I’m a bit strapped for cash at the moment, but I’ll see you all right in a couple of days.”

  Murphy looked into Rawlins’ face, very serious, and said, “Have this one on me—for old times’ sake, Harry.”

  “Cheers, Gordon.”

  Gordon stood up, and Harry helped him into his coat, noticing how carefully he did up each button before he walked to the door.

  “How’s your mother?” Harry asked.

  Murphy sighed. “Not too good. Housebound now, but she’s still a game old bird.”

  “I’ll bet she is.” Harry smiled.

  At the door, Murphy said, “I’ll find her for you, Harry, you just leave it with me.”

  Harry nodded. He knew that if anybody in London could find his wife, Gordon Murphy would—and no one would ever know about it.

  Linda couldn’t get warm. She switched on the electric fire in the lounge, then the one in the bedroom, and she put on the electric blanket before getting into bed, but she still couldn’t get warm. She felt cold and lost, the flat so full of memories of Joe. She got out of bed and went down to the kitchen. The fridge contained half a bottle of rotten, stinking milk. She shut the fridge door and walked out of the basement and up the steps, wearing her dressing gown and fluffy slippers. She pressed the buzzer on the main door for old Mrs. Johnson upstairs. The old lady took her time, and Linda had to ring again. Eventually a feeble little voice asked who it was.

  Linda put her mouth close to the intercom. “It’s Linda, from downstairs. Can I borrow some milk?”

  The buzzer went and Linda slipped into the house, just as Gordon Murphy appeared. He took a quick look at the house, then headed down the basement steps. He rang the bell and waited, pressed again and waited some more. He peered through the window, rang the bell again, then flipped open the letterbox. He stood back and looked the door over—not too hard to break in, he reckoned.

  He’d just check the other girl first.

  Linda was opening the main door of the house just as Murphy came back up the basement steps. She stepped back sharply, pulling the door almost closed and watching him through the crack. When he was out of sight she scurried down the stairs and in through her own door, her hands shaking so much she could hardly open it. She wanted to call somebody, anybody, but she couldn’t think of anyone, so she made sure the front door was locked and got into bed. She could see her reflection in the mirror. Her face was white, her eye still bruised, and the line from nose to cheek brought back an overpowering memory of how close she had come to being killed.

  She lay back on the pillow and the tears came. After a long time, she cried herself to sleep.

  Carla had almost finished packing. She had called up all her friends to see if anyone would let her crash the next couple of weeks, but it was always the same—no room at the inn. Everybody knew Carla; she was always looking for a place to stay. Her transistor radio was playing Diana Ross, and Carla hummed along. The doorbell rang.

  She yelled, “It’s open!”

  There was no answer.

  “It’s open!”

  She thought maybe it was Bella coming to check up on her. She began folding a dress before placing it in the suitcase.

  The door slowly opened, and Gordon Murphy stood there. His voice was very quiet.

  “Just unpacking? Have a good trip, did you?”

  Carla almost jumped out of her skin. “Who the hell are you?”

  Murphy stepped into the flat. “I just want to ask you a few questions, darlin’. Tell me what I want to know and you won’t get hurt.”

  She just stared at him, terror in her eyes.

  “Where’s Dolly Rawlins?”

  “I . . . er . . . who?” she stammered.

  “Come on, don’t mess me about—Dolly Rawlins,” he repeated, moving closer.

  Carla started backing away. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

  Murphy removed his tinted, rimless glasses, putting them very carefully into his jacket pocket.

  “I don’t wanna hurt you, Bella, but I’m not gonna ask you again. Where’s Dolly?”

  Carla wanted to tell him that she wasn’t Bella, that she’d never heard of Dolly Rawlins, but she was so scared she couldn’t speak. Murphy picked up a pillow and moved toward her, while Diana Ross kept on singing in the background.

  Murphy was a pro. That was one of the things Harry liked about him. Carla didn’t even have time to cry out.

  Audrey was sitting in the kitchen in her dressing gown. She felt the way she looked, pale and drawn, and the last thing she wanted to do was have an argument with Shirley, who was standing there with a paper carrier bag full of pornographic videos. Shirley dumped them noisily onto the table.

  “They’re porn, Mum, and they were in my fridge!”

  Audrey giggled nervously. “How d’you know? Watch them, did you?”

  “Not funny, Mum. Did you have any idea what Greg has been up to in my house? As far as I can see, he’s been running a porn movie rental service. And who do you think gave them to Greg in the first place? None other than your new, oh-so-straight, oh-so-honest, live-in lover-boy, Ray!”

  Audrey suddenly came over all dizzy.

  Shirley looked at her. “You all right, Mum?”

  Audrey rubbed her tummy. “Yeah, just a bit of wind.”

  As if on cue, Ray Bates breezed into the kitchen. “Hello, Aud, me old darlin’! Shirley . . .” He turned and opened the kitchen door further. “Come on in, Micky!”

  Micky Tesco followed Ray in. Ray made a great show of introducing Micky to Audrey, and then to Shirley. Micky came out with the usual smooth banter.

  “Oh, you don’t look old enough—daughter? Where they been keepin’ you hidden, then?”

  Shirley wasn’t amused and didn’t reply. Audrey filled Micky in about her daughter being in Los Angeles as she got up, put the kettle on and opened the biscuit tin. Tesco was still giving Shirley the once-over.

  “What kind of work d’you do, then?”

  Audrey answered for Shirley again. “Model. She’s a model. That’s why she’s been in Los Angeles, modeling.”

  Ray gave Audrey a pat on the bum. “Any chance of a butty, Aud? Fancy a cup of tea, Micky?”

  Micky looked at his watch. “Another time, Ray. If you just get that log book, I’ll be on my way.”

  Ray whispered to Audrey that Micky’d just bought his Jag. “Nice bit o’ business.”

  Tesco pulled a chair from under the kitchen table and sat down.

  “So what kinda business you in?” Shirley asked him.

  Tesco examined his cowboy boot. “Property.”

  Shirley wasn’t really listening. She picked up her handbag. “So you’ll have a word with Greg about the videos, Mum?”

  Ray came back into the kitchen with the log book.

  “Oh, how’s that little skiver, then?” Not waiting for an answer, he gave Tesco the log book.

  Shirley gave Ray another of her cool looks. “Greg’s fine. He’s moving back ’ere—if that’s all right with you, Ray?” she added in a sarcastic tone.

  Ray gave Audrey a look, then glanced back at Shirley. It was awkward that she didn’t like him, but right now he didn’t really care. He’d just done a very nice little bit of business. The motor trade wasn’t doin’ all that well, and to get that Jag off his hands was very satisfying.

  Tesco carefully went over the log book, then reached in his jacket pocket and handed Ray an envelope. The two men shook hands and Tesco turned to Shirley.

  “You wanna lift anywhere?”

  Shirley shook her head. “I’ve got my own car, thanks.”

  Tesco shrugged and opened the kitchen door for her. Shirley gave a little wave to her mum, completely ignoring Ray, and walked out. Tesco gave Ray a wink and followed her.

  As the door closed behind him, Audrey put the teapot on the table. “You know, Ray, you should try and fix that boy up with Shirley. He seems very nice, and ever so handsome!”

  Ray nodded distractedly. He was too busy counting the money.

  Harry didn’t think much of the Jag. He walked round it, kicked the wheels, then got behind the wheel and revved up the engine.

  “How much you lay out for this heap of shit?”

  That was the last straw for Tesco. He was still steaming about the list Harry had just handed him, with strict instructions to bring it all back to the flat by three o’clock. The list included shirts from Turnbull & Asser, suits, shoes, socks, underpants—Tesco couldn’t believe it.

  “What the friggin’ hell d’ye think I am? Cash and carry?”

  Harry was still revving the engine, watching the blue smoke coming out of the exhaust.

  “Jimmy never said nothin’ about me toggin’ you out!”

  Harry switched off the engine. “How much have you got to play with, then?” he asked without even looking at Tesco.

  Micky puffed himself up. “I got plenty! Nearly eight grand.”

  Harry laughed. “Eight! You got eight grand? I said to Jimmy, ‘No cutting corners on this caper.’” He was fiddling with the dashboard, still not looking at Tesco. “You couldn’t organize a raid on a sweetshop for that.”

  Tesco snapped. “I don’t see you dippin’ your hand into your pocket, Mister Rawlins. You matched my eight grand yet? How many men we got in yet? Zero! There’s nobody. You an’ me, that’s all there is, an’ all I’m doin’ is schleppin’ round buyin’ you gear!”

  Harry finally turned to him. “Your eight grand, son, is a piss in the ocean. I’m gonna have to cover you twenty times over. Now, you just get the shoppin’, darlin’, and do what I tell you.” Harry switched the engine back on and put the car in gear.

  Tesco hung on to the window. “Hey, just a second, how am I gonna get about? I left my car up at Ray’s . . .” He almost fell into the street as Harry drove off. “Son of a bitch!” He screwed up Harry’s list and threw it after the car as it disappeared down the road.

  When Bella let herself in to her flat, the first thing she noticed was the radio, lying on its side in the hallway, as if it’d been thrown against the wall. It was still playing. She picked it up and turned it off.

  “Carla?” she called out. Bella pushed open the bedroom door. The room was a shambles—chairs broken, stuff strewn all over the floor, the whole place smashed up. The bed was piled with sheets, blankets, clothes and suitcases.

  At first, Bella didn’t see Carla, just heard a soft mewing, almost like a kitten, and then she realized it was coming from underneath all the debris on the bed. Bella began pulling everything away and found Carla curled up like a baby. She was whimpering. Bella got down on her knees.

  “Baby, oh baby . . . What happened to you?”

  Slowly, Carla turned her face toward Bella. It was black and blue, her lips split open, one eye closed. Her nose was caked with blood that still dripped down her face. As Bella pulled the sheets back, she saw the state of Carla’s body—bruises covered almost every inch of her. But all Carla could whimper was, “My face, my face . . .”

  Bella stood in shock for a moment, then went to pick up the phone. It had been torn from the wall. She went back to the bed.

  “Just lie still, baby, I’ll get an ambulance. Please don’t move, darling.”

  Carla struggled to talk. “Thought I was you . . . said he wanted . . .”

  Bella was down on her knees again. “What? What, darlin’?”

  All she could get out was the word “Dolly”.

  Bella leaned in closer. “What about Dolly?”

  But all she heard Carla mutter from between her puffy, bruised lips was, “My face, my face . . .”

  As Bella stood to go for an ambulance, she caught sight of herself in the broken mirror, and knew that that bruised and beaten face could so easily have been her own.

  Harry used his key to enter Trudie Nunn’s flat. And the first thing he noticed was how clean and tidy it was. In the kitchen everything was spotless. When he pushed open the bedroom door, he could see that the bed was stripped. He walked round the flat again to make sure, then kicked over a chair in frustration.

  Trudie was gone.

  On the floor by the chair he saw a tiny teddy bear. He recognized it as the one his baby had clung to from birth and in a sudden flash he saw the boy, sucking at the toy. He bent to pick it up. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

  The front door suddenly opened and a big, blowsy woman marched in. “Flat’s gone, went this morning.”

  Harry didn’t turn. “Where’s Trudie? And the kid?”

  “Little bitch did a moonlight, didn’t she, with some bloke. Owed rent, milk bill . . . You a friend of hers? She owes me rent, you know!”

  He pushed past her to the door. She followed him, and then stopped.

  “Hey, you, just a minute—how d’you get in?” But Rawlins was already running down the stairs. The landlady looked over the banisters. “Dirty, filthy little slut,” she muttered to herself.

  Dolly poured a cup of tea and took it to Bella. They were all at Linda’s flat—Dolly, Linda, Bella and Shirley. Bella was in a terrible state, almost hysterical.

  Dolly quietly asked her again. “You sure? You’re sure it was Harry?”

  Bella knocked the cup of tea out of Dolly’s hand. “How many bastards are lookin’ for you, Dolly? He said your name—it was you he was asking for, over and over as he hit her, he kept on asking for you!”

  “Did he think Carla was you?” Linda asked in a frightened voice.

  Bella turned on her. “Course he bloody did! I’m black, she’s black—we all look alike in the dark, you stupid bitch!” Bella leaned forward to slap her, but Dolly caught her hand.

  “Now just take it easy, Bella. Pull yourself together!”

  Bella jerked her hand away. “What’s she asking me stupid questions for, Dolly? It was Harry, I’m telling you. It was Harry Rawlins!”

  Shirley was on her knees, mopping up the spilled tea. Dolly picked up the cup and the broken saucer.

  “Well, we know one thing: the money’s safe.”

  There was no reaction. No whoops of joy.

  “But we still can’t exchange it yet,” Dolly explained. “We’ve got to find someone we trust to handle it.” She glanced at Shirley, who was still mopping up the tea. Her skirt was badly stained. “You all right, darlin’?” Dolly asked.

  “Yeah.” Shirley turned to Bella. “That was stupid!”

  Dolly went into the kitchen. She could hear the two of them arguing. It was all so stupid, all their bickering, but she knew it was because they were frightened. She sighed and went back in.

  “I think it would be for the best if we all stayed together from now on. Shirley, your place is big enough. Maybe we should all stay there.”

  Shirley frowned. “Why my place?”

  Suddenly, Bella screamed. Dolly almost jumped out of her skin. They all stared at Bella.

  “My diamonds, the earring—I’ve lost it!”

  “What does it look like?” Linda asked.

  “Like the other one, you stupid bitch!” Then she turned to Shirley. “If we’re all gonna be stayin’ with you, darlin’, you better keep her outta my sight!”

  Shirley looked at Dolly pleadingly. “I’ve only just got rid of me brother, Dolly. I was looking forward to some peace and quiet.”

  Sister Teresa stood on top of a ladder, filling the lockers with hymn books. As she worked, the Mother Superior entered the room.