Micky went over to the cupboard and took down several jars of vitamins, then got himself some fruit juice. He shook a handful of pills into his palm and washed them down with the juice.

  Harry raised an eyebrow. “Don’t want you rattling round this afternoon with that lot inside you.”

  Micky replaced the jars, then took a cloth and wiped the grease spits from around the cooker. Then he saw the greasy frying pan and suddenly felt nauseous. He took a deep breath, got some honey from the cupboard and spooned it into his coffee, before sitting down opposite Harry.

  Harry wiped his plate with his bread and pushed it away. He lit a cigarette.

  Micky leaned back and wafted the smoke away with his hand.

  “Few last-minute details,” Harry began. “You get the gear, move off on the bike with Brian, as arranged. Get a good distance away from the club, half-way to the lock-up, then give him some crap about having to pull up. You’ve got to dump him, fast, then turn tail and make it back here. I’ll be waiting. We’ve only got an hour to make that plane. There’s another one an hour after, but I’d like to get the first one.”

  Micky didn’t think he was hearing right. He couldn’t make sense of what Harry was saying. He stared, open-mouthed.

  Harry pushed Micky’s plate of eggs closer to him. “Something wrong with my cooking, Micky?”

  “I’m not with you. Dump him? What d’you mean?”

  Harry got up and walked into the lounge, looking for an ashtray. Micky watched him through the open door.

  “Just get rid of him. You’ve got to get back here.”

  Micky got up and went to the door. “What about the lads back at the lock-up? If we’re coming back here with the gear, who’s paying them off? They’re going back to the lock-up.”

  Harry gave him a funny look. “You got fifty grand for any of them? Well? They’re coming steaming back to the lock-up, hands out for two hundred and fifty grand. You got it?”

  Micky walked further into the room. Harry was now flicking through his passport, the forged one bought from Colin Soal. He seemed relaxed, businesslike. Micky felt the ground opening up under his feet.

  “But you can’t! You think they’ll all just take it? Pull a caper like this and then get shafted? They’ll come after us, every bleedin’ one of them. Jesus Christ, I wouldn’t blame them!”

  Harry closed his briefcase and laughed. “They’ll have to find us first, won’t they?”

  Micky just looked stunned.

  “Maybe we’ll send them somethin’ when we change the gems,” Harry said with a chuckle.

  Micky began shaking his head. A few last-minute details. Holy shit.

  “What about Jimmy, Jimmy Glazier back in Rio? I mean, he set the whole thing up, didn’t he?”

  Harry whipped round. “I set it up, Micky. Me and no one else. You better remember that.”

  Micky followed Harry into the kitchen, watching as he poured himself another coffee. His hands were steady as he picked up the honey pot and stirred in a spoonful.

  “I’ll try this for a change.”

  Micky sat down. The initial shock had worn off and he was starting to think it through.

  It was true, they didn’t have any cash left, if the sixty grand from the women was all there was. He’d assumed Harry had some more cash stashed away somewhere to bankroll the job. Micky could feel his heart pounding. And what about Rintle? Harry had agreed to give him cash up front, and there was no way they could pull off the job without him.

  Then there was himself. Was he going to have to watch his own back now? How was it going to work between them once they’d got the gems?

  Harry got up and patted him on the shoulder, as if he was reading his thoughts.

  “I did the cooking, Micky. You do the washing up.”

  Ray walked into the kitchen and found Greg leering at the Page Three girl in the paper.

  “Right, put that away, son. You need to get cracking and pick up the Transit. You gotta be in position.”

  Greg turned the page over. “No panic, Ray. There’s hours to go. I’m not even going to take the van ’til after two.”

  Ray leaned over the table, his voice a harsh whisper. “You just get over to the garage and check the van’s OK. You gotta get into position in plenty of time, so you need to leave now.”

  Greg picked up the paper and shoved it under his arm. “You gettin’ the wind up, are ya, Ray?”

  Ray clipped him one, then shoved him toward the door, as a sleepy-looking Audrey appeared.

  “What you all doin’? You know the time? It’s Sunday, for crying out loud.”

  Ray gave a half-hearted laugh, flicking Greg a warning look to get going. Greg walked to the back door.

  Audrey looked at him. “Where you goin’?”

  Ray patted Greg’s shoulder. “He’s got some cars to clean down the garage.”

  “See you later then, Ray,” Greg said cheerily.

  I bloody well hope so, Ray thought to himself.

  Audrey waddled to the fridge and took out eggs and bacon. “You fancy a fry-up?”

  Ray felt his stomach do a flip. “I’m fine, love.”

  “You all right, darlin’? You were up and down half the night, pacing round. You’d think you was having the kid, not me.”

  The phone rang, and Ray almost jumped out of his skin. Audrey put her hand on his arm as he reached for it.

  “It’ll be the woman about the carrycot.”

  Ray let out a breath, but his nerves were still jangling.

  “Make us some toast, would you, love?” Audrey called, picking up the phone. Ray’s hand shook so much he could cut nothing better than a huge doorstep.

  “She wants fifty quid!” Audrey yelled to him. “It’s a pram and carrycot combined. In mulberry!” She came back into the kitchen. “She wants an answer now; got another woman after it. Sounds nice, Ray. Mulberry . . . What shall I tell her?”

  Ray pulled out a wad of notes, then took out two twenties and a ten. Audrey blew him a kiss and went back to the phone. Moments later she came back in, beaming.

  “We can go over and pick it up this afternoon.”

  Ray had to get out. “Sorry, love, better get over to the garage. Tell her we’ll pick it up tomorrow, all right?”

  Audrey shrugged, went over to the toaster and looked at the slice of bread stuck halfway in. She shook her head. “I dunno—men can’t do a thing. Not even slice a bit of bread.”

  Ray moved behind her, held her close and kissed her neck. She turned round in his arms.

  “I can really feel him moving. Put your hand on him.”

  Ray felt like crying. He touched her belly, could feel nothing but a big lump, but he said he felt him, felt his son. Then he kissed Audrey, gripping her tight.

  “Gerroff, you soft bugger.”

  He went to the door and gave her a little wave, before walking out.

  Audrey stared after him. Funny feller. But one thing was for sure, he was going to make a great father, if the way he took care of her was anything to go by. She felt all warm and loving as she picked up the £50. At last she had a man that treated her right, who really loved her. She began singing, then had to sit down as she felt a sharp pain.

  “Oh, you’re a tough little bugger, aren’t you? Just like your dad.”

  Dolly had parked her car a safe distance away and they walked warily to their lock-up before slipping inside. She and Bella moved along the wall into position and listened. Next door was empty, dark and silent.

  Amanda’s nightclub, by contrast, was already a hive of activity. A bronze Security wagon was parked at the main entrance and two guards were carrying a small box up the steps to the main entrance. Standing watching was the club’s own chucker-out, Steve, wearing his smartest suit for the occasion. He eyed the guards as they passed him and headed across the reception area, then up the stairs toward the main club room and the offices. The club manager, Brian Shellskin, was also watching the proceedings. As the guards passed him he laid a hand on Steve’s muscular arm.

  “That’s the last.”

  “Yes, and those two will stay as added security.”

  “Good. Now, remember, absolutely no one is allowed to enter the club without a pass. Only the names on the clipboard list are to be admitted, and you must double-check the names and passes before allowing anyone up the stairs.”

  Steve nodded. “I’ve got it. All the models are already checked in. They’re upstairs.”

  Shellskin seemed satisfied. He fussed over a huge floral display at the entrance, picked up a dried leaf carried in on the shoes of one of the security guards and handed it to Steve before going upstairs to the club. Steve looked at the leaf, tossed it back onto the carpet and sat down. One of the security guards came down the stairs. He picked up the clipboard and flipped through the names. It was going to be a long old day.

  Dolly was up on the orange box, peering through the hole. Men crossed and recrossed her line of vision, getting into security guard uniforms.

  “Aren’t they getting ready a bit early?” Dolly whispered to Bella.

  “You remember what they’re like,” Bella whispered back. “They’ll be in and out of those uniforms ten times before they’re ready.”

  Dolly chewed her lip and went back to staring through the hole. She saw Harry pass across, holding a security helmet in his hand. So he was going to be on the raid himself. She tried hard to get him into focus.

  Harry carried the helmet over to Harvey Rintle and took him to one side. With a look over his shoulder to see if they were being watched, he picked up a small holdall and opened it. It was full of cash.

  “Just take it, put it where you want it, all right?”

  Rintle took the holdall, had a look inside and zipped it up.

  Harry let out a breath. If Rintle had dug down below the surface layer he would have found nothing but cut-up newspaper. Harry then walked over to Kevin White.

  “Make sure you keep your visor down at all times, yeah?”

  Kevin nodded, buckled his belt and picked up his helmet.

  Micky was over by the shotguns, checking them out, cocking them, packing them with small capsules of rice. They wouldn’t actually blow someone away, but they’d hear a bang and feel the impact—think they’d been hit.

  Ray, wearing rubber gloves, was washing down the Transit van, cleaning all the prints off it.

  Harry was now standing right under the wall by Dolly and Bella. They couldn’t see if he was wearing a uniform or not, but Dolly was going on the assumption that he was, since she’d seen him with the security helmet. Then she heard his voice, almost as if he was speaking to her.

  “We roll in fifteen minutes—everyone stand by.”

  Dolly gasped. The men looked as if they were moving out. Shirley must have got it wrong; they were moving out now. She almost fell off the box, pushing Bella ahead of her.

  “They’re going. We need to get outta here fast!”

  They made it out of the lock-up and sprinted across the road. As they ducked out of sight, the big door of Harry’s lock-up slid back. The Transit van moved out, with Ray Bates at the wheel. Sitting in the back of the van were Johnny Summers, Micky Tesco and Kevin White.

  Harvey Rintle then walked out, wheeling his bike. He crossed over the road and put it into the back of a small van, along with the holdall. Standing at the door, Harry saw Jackie in the driver’s seat as the van drove off. Rintle then jumped into the Transit. Harry closed the doors behind him, banged once with his fist, and the van pulled away. Harry turned as Brian Fisk wheeled the motorbike out. Harry smiled, pulling the heavy door closed. Brian hopped onto the bike.

  “See you later, Mr. Rawlins.”

  Harry looked at him. “Yeah, remember the van’s got to be in position before you take a look round the place.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Rawlins, I’ll be there in plenty of time on this baby.”

  Harry patted him on the arm. “Take it easy, eh, Brian? We don’t want any aggro. Just take it nice and slow.”

  Brian turned in the saddle, his boyish young face beaming. “You can trust me, Mr. Rawlins.”

  Harry was already back in the lock-up by the time the bike sped off. He had to clear everything away, burn the plans and make sure there was not a scrap of evidence to lead anyone back to him.

  Dolly made it to the car first, with Bella close on her heels. The car was already moving as Bella slammed her door closed, and Dolly put her foot down as they headed for the nearest phone booth. As they pulled up, Bella was already out, yanking open the booth door.

  “It’s dead! The bloody phone’s dead!”

  Trudie was running out of money. She had paid the hotel bill, afraid that if she stayed any longer she would not be able to afford a ticket home. Her depression and her loneliness were making her drink too much, and she had started to find caring for the baby emotionally draining. Uppermost, though, was the fear that something terrible had happened to Harry and he wasn’t coming for her. She had even detected suspicious glances at the hotel reception as she continued asking if someone had tried to reach her. She called her sister, again not considering the time. Vera answered, having been woken.

  “Vera, it’s me, Trudie.”

  “Jesus Christ, do you know what time it is?”

  Trudie started to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just needed to tell you I’m coming home. But has anyone tried to call me?”

  Vera had a coughing fit as she stood in the hallway in her night-dress, reaching for cigarettes. “Yeah, we did have someone bloody call here. Never left his name, but he was asking after you and where you were.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “What could I tell him? I don’t know where you are.”

  “It’s very important, Vera, that if he calls again you tell him I’m coming home and I’ll be at your place.”

  “He asked after the baby,” Vera said, “but he wouldn’t give his name. Are you with Jimmy? That no good bloody husband of yours?”

  Trudie hesitated and then lied, “Yeah, I’m with Jimmy, but I’m coming home, all right?”

  She hung up. Vera lit a cigarette. She suspected Trudie was in trouble, she usually was. And that so-called failure of a racing driver that was her husband would probably be part of her problems. Vera was sick to death of always having to pick up the pieces for Trudie. It sounded like she’d have to put up with her living in her flat. She was not going to enjoy telling her partner when he came off night duty.

  The main office was now the girls’ dressing room. Extra lights had been placed round the makeshift make-up tables and racks of dresses lined up. The dresser was carefully checking that the accessories to go with each garment were tagged and listed: belts, scarves, shoes—everything ready for the quick changes.

  It was organized chaos. The girls were at various stages of dressing and undressing, while hairdressers teased and set hair, Carmen rollers everywhere, hairdryers blowing. Make-up artists were equally busy painting faces and bodies. From down in the club, music could be heard, the hubbub of voices, people rushing in and out.

  Shirley had been made up and her hair was being backcombed into a high punk style, sprayed with golden highlights. Myra was having a fit over a dress that she screamed had been designed for a stuffed elephant.

  Standing at the door with her clipboard was Mrs. Harper, the petite but fearsome-looking woman in charge of the jewel collection. She had to shout at the top of her voice to be heard over the babble as she began calling the order of the girls to accompany her to the main office for the jewels to be matched with the outfits.

  Myra and Shirley were first.

  “Please get a move on, girls!” she shouted. “The press have already started to arrive.”

  All the noise had given Shirley a stabbing pain in one eye, while the girl was pulling at her hair mercilessly, molding it into shape.

  Jukko screamed her name. She still wasn’t in her dress, and the dresser bustled over and started to shake out a delicate, shiny silk and chiffon gown.

  Myra was now dressed and moving toward the door, yelling that she had asked to wear the chiffon, but they’d stuck her in a ghastly-looking old sack! She stormed out.

  Inside the club it was a different kind of bedlam: the final drapes were being hammered round the catwalk, floral displays had been plonked on every available table, as the tables had not been dressed yet, and the rows and rows of gilt chairs sat tiered, ready to be placed round the catwalk. All the while the music belted out, while the constant comings and goings of dressers and models made the room seem like a bus station during rush hour.

  A group of pressmen sat round a table drinking coffee, cigarette smoke creating a haze above their heads. They were checking cameras, complaining about being kept hanging round, while keeping a professional eye on all the half-naked women running in and out. Among them was Colin Soal, unshaven, relaxed, wearing a raincoat, and sporting his press card and pass. Twice he looked over to the fire exit doors, then got up and stretched.

  “Just going to see what’s the best angle to get the girls, eh?” he said with a dirty laugh, before going on a casual wander round the club.

  On instinct, the pressmen all looked up. One of the models, wearing only a long skirt, was yelling for Jukko. One of them managed to aim his camera, but the model had already run back into the dressing room.

  Colin Soal held his camera to his eye while backing carefully toward the fire exit door. He quietly released the crossbar, all the time making out that he was just trying to get a good shot of the catwalk. Then he moved off to fire exit number two. He needn’t have worried about the two security guards standing on duty outside the manager’s office; their eyes were out on stalks as one half-naked woman after another rushed past. He released the bar on fire exit number two just as one of the guards was holding the office door open for Shirley.

  At King’s Cross Station, Dolly was running from one phone booth to another, but they were all out of order. The only one that seemed to be working was occupied—a big man in a raincoat talking loudly on it. Bella stood outside and glared at him, but he just turned his back.