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  Through her tears, Minnie nodded. Her throat felt swollen. “Ron, they were going to make me have an abortion. I couldn’t stay there.”

  Quietly, he nodded, but his shocked expression remained unchanged. Minnie got the awful feeling that Ronnie was quickly starting to regret his noble decision to take the wrap for her. Now they were both stuck in the same shitty position, on the run, and now with a bastard child in tow.

  Her tears transitioned into loud, uncontrollable howls that Ronnie attempted to muffle by holding her tightly to him so that she wept into the shoulder of his t-shirt.

  “W-w-w-what are we g-g-g-going to d-d-d-do?” she moaned.

  Ronnie sighed, “fuck knows, Min.”

  Furiously, she pushed him away, stood up, and ripped open the backpack she had brought with her. Inside, more wads of cash lay inside a cheap bin liner, wedged in beside a few pairs of socks, knickers, and a toothbrush. “I can’t believe I stole all of this,” she groaned, staring down at the cash in dismay.

  “Stole it? From who?”

  “Nana,” replied Minnie miserably, unable to look him in the eye. “I told you I did another bad thing.”

  “Nana?” repeated Ronnie disbelievingly. “Your Nana?!”

  She nodded, then sank back down onto the bed, burying her blotchy, tear-stained face in her hands. “That’s where I got the money I gave you. You know she’s loaded… and she never leaves her bed these days. I went down her purse, withdrew as much cash as I could… wrote out some cheques. It wasn’t difficult to trace her signature.”

  “Fucking hell, Minnie,” Ronnie shook his head. “This just gets better and better, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m the worst person in the world,” she sobbed. “What the hell have I done, Ron? What will we do? This is all such a mess…”

  Ronnie Garnet paused and chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip, as he often did when faced with a dilemma. The young man rubbed his girlfriend’s back and was silent for an entire ten minutes, which truthfully felt more like an eternity. When he finally spoke again, his tone had softened. He took her firmly but gently, by both shoulders, and forced her to look at him.

  “You need to stop feeling bad,” he said. “Don’t feel bad. We have enough on our plate without added self-loathing.”

  Minnie blinked at him.

  “Your nan won’t notice the money has gone missing,” he said confidently. “She’s a vegetable. She’s also entirely isolated apart from carers. She no longer speaks to your parents for unknown reasons, and I think that it’s fair to say it’s the old woman’s own fault.”

  Minnie’s mouth fell open. “You can’t know that.”

  He reached over and placed his hand on her flat abdomen. “Could you ever go for years without speaking to our baby? No matter what their age? No matter what they did, where they went, or what they said?” the intensity of his gaze surged deeply into hers. Her eyes pricked with fresh tears, and her heart swelled with love. All of a sudden, the beard, and the cigarette, and the other less-than-desirable circumstances surrounding their situation no longer seemed to matter.

  Wordlessly, she shook her head.

  “Exactly,” he said. “So stop thinking of her as dear old Nana and start thinking of her as a heartless old bag that didn’t love her own daughter. Think of the money as compensation for her absence over the last decade.”

  Before Minnie could say anything else, he lifted his finger and pressed it lightly to her lips. She took a deep, nervous breath.

  “Now. You’ve put your cards on the table. Now it’s time for me to show you mine,” he told her with a tight, uncomfortable grimace.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  2019

  Stella’s head swum, more so than she had intended to let it.

  In the dingy, dark space of Neil’s caravan, she sat slumped in one corner of the saggy couch; her pupils fixed tightly on the throbbing vibrations of a single speaker that stood pathetically by itself on the bitty, crumb-covered carpet.

  She just couldn’t help it.

  She loved to be stoned.

  Once she started smoking, she didn’t stop until nothing seemed to matter anymore, and the world just became one big fluffy haze of cotton wool forming a halo around her head. She smiled at nothing in particular.

  “You okay, princess?”

  At the sound of Neil’s voice, she lazily let her pupils drift diagonally upwards until the freckly-faced young man with the shit haircut and cheap-looking gold chain came into view.

  Like a cat, she purred leisurely and let out a long, low sigh before slinking onto her side to face him. Batting her eyelashes, she stared up at him, referring back to the many hours of practise she had had in various hotel bathroom mirrors.

  “More than okay,” she confirmed with a suggestive smile. “But…” she continued, forcing herself closer to him, “maybe I’d feel better if we had a bit more privacy.” Without moving, she gestured to the group of other boys congregated in the smoky, haze-filled caravan and traced a slender finger over his knee.

  And just like that, with one gruff turn of the head and a stern bark, the other young men grumbled and groused as they reluctantly got up and bumbled out of the murky motor home. Stella smiled. Their instant compliance was a sure-fire sign that her gut instincts had been correct. Neil was the ringleader. The brains of the operation. And, most importantly, the one sitting on the goods and the cash.

  She refused another puff of the joint that Neil offered her and instead angled herself on the couch so that her body was facing him, giving him a full view. Although he was stoned, his eyes seemed to absorb her, like they were guzzling her down like some kind of juicy delicacy.

  It made her feel alive to know that he wanted her.

  “Why’d you want to get me alone then, eh?” he asked, smirking as he stubbed the half-smoked spliff into the ashtray.

  Doe-eyed, she blinked and pushed out her lips slightly so that their plumpness would form the kind of pout that would make him imagine her sucking his cock. As if repeating a well-rehearsed routine, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and laughed girlishly, as if he’d just told an incredibly funny and witty joke.

  “I don’t know,” she shrugged, “I just wanted you all to myself…”

  The gleam of greed in his eye grew. Stella could sense the testosterone rapidly filling the atmosphere, swirling all around her as the young man began to fantasize.

  “Do you know what I want to be when I grow up?” Stella asked innocently before he could reply. She leant forwards onto her hands and knees, like a tiger about to prowl forwards onto his lap.

  “A stripper?” Neil asked hopefully, temporarily breaking the spell.

  Stella had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to stop her eyes from rolling. Instead, she faked laughter. “No, silly… a masseuse!”

  Neil blinked dumbly.

  “I want to massage people,” elaborated Stella.

  “Ohhhh! I get ya,” winked Neil. “Well, you can practise on me, babe. Any time you like.”

  Stella stood up, her arms folded across her chest, despite the dull groan of protest coming from behind her eyes. “Come on then, shirt off, lay down,” she grinned.

  She almost laughed at how easy it was to make him obey. In fact, Neil looked as though all of his giro payments had come through at once. His cheeks reddened with excitement as he scrambled to get his polo top off and began fiddling with the buckle on his jeans.

  “I hope there’s gonna be a happy ending!” he chirped, flashing Stella another sleazy wink.

  A small, sly smile crept up onto her lips, but she remained quiet.

  There sure would be a happy ending.

  For her, at least.

  *

  There was no bread to feed the ducks. Flo didn’t mind. She just threw stones and sticks instead.

  Fondly, Zach watched over his little sister, mildly irritated by the looming presence of Destiny-Lynn, who was standing so close beside him that the stench of stale fags and h
er cheap perfume irritated his nostrils.

  “Looks like my friend is keen on yours,” the girl said into his ear.

  Zach resisted the urge to punch her and instead plastered on a smile and gave a brief sideways glance at Lloyd and Sambuca, who were strolling off together behind some trees.

  Good on him, Zach thought approvingly. Poor Lloyd seemed to have been the only one of the four siblings to bypass the attractive gene pool and had been referred to in the past as a ‘thumb’ with his stocky figure and plain features. Sambuca certainly appeared trampy enough to shag a person she’d just met behind a tree in the park but also appeared to have no self-esteem, which would also work in Lloyd’s favour.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” Destiny continued. Zach’s lip involuntarily curled upwards into a grimace. His stomach churned. He knew he couldn’t do or say anything to piss the bitch off. The whole point was that he wanted to distract the group of thugs so Stella could move in and rob the idiots.

  “No, really?” he gasped, feigning surprise. “But, you’re so beautiful.”

  Somewhere beneath her badly applied fake tan, Destiny blushed.

  “I thought that surely one of the boys you were hanging out with before was your boyfriend?”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head, “na. They all think they’re players. Just want a cheap fuck, you know?”

  The idea of somebody having sex with Destiny over the back of a wheelie bin made bile rise from the pit of Zach’s stomach, but he hid his disgust well and just continued to smile. “Oh really?” he asked politely, “players, eh? Do you know if they…” he glanced around, as if worried about being heard, then lowered his voice and forced himself closer to her, “sell drugs?”

  Destiny nodded, enthusiastic about being able to answer Zach’s questions.

  “Oh yeah, Neil’s dad is the main supplier in the area, so Neil gets bare shit. Everyone in the community buys from him.”

  Perfect, Zach thought to himself, imagining shitty, stained mattresses concealing thick wads of cash that Stella could pinch. Knowing his sister, she’d probably steal a shitload of pills, and God knows what else, but Zach wasn’t so enthusiastic about the idea of dealing again.

  He still had nightmares about what went down with Mr. Yoki.

  Suddenly, a horrific screech ripped through the air. Both Zach and Destiny’s heads snapped to the side towards the thick cluster of trees and greenery about a hundred or so metres away, stretching upwards like a beacon in the centre of a vast patch of yellowing field.

  “Oh my god, that sounds like Sam!” Destiny said, immediately lunging forwards.

  Zach instinctively held out an arm and caught her. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he said with a smile. “I’ll go see what’s up. Will you look after my baby sister?”

  Worked like a charm.

  He had to stifle a snigger at the girl’s stupidity as he watched her face soften. Instantly all traces of concern for her friend were gone, instead replaced by the delusion that a handsome boy was trusting her to babysit his kid sister. She smiled and nodded, practically skipping off to be by Flo’s side. It was a mystery to Zach why it was always men being painted as perverted nymphomaniacs in society- in reality, the women were just as bad.

  Perhaps just a bit more selective.

  Briskly, Zach pursed his lips, turned on his heel, and marched towards the trees, towards where the panicked shout had erupted. He hoped, more than anything, that Lloyd hadn’t done anything foolish. Not that he gave a fig about Sambuca. He’d probably get a kick out of slicing the skanky bitch into millions of tiny flesh cubes, but that was by the by.

  Father had specifically told them to lay low. And whilst Zach and Lloyd were practically men now and were usually treated as such, both knew that disobeying him was about as sensible as burying a dead body at the beach.

  But the closer Zach got, the grimmer his expression grew. He’d developed good instincts. You had to be sharp to live the kind of lifestyle that they did. And, at that moment, he was getting distinctly unpleasant feelings in the pit of his stomach. Feelings that told him to be prepared.

  Because judging by the sounds emitting from the gathering of trees up ahead, Lloyd was doing anything but laying low.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Summer, 1999

  Minnie blinked in utter astonishment at the shiny, plastic card that was slapped down onto the grimy restaurant table in front of them. On its surface, Ronnie’s new, hairier, dishevelled appearance stared sullenly up at her beside rows of typed identification.

  “Zachary Lloyd,” she slowly read the name printed on the fake driver’s license.

  “I like those names,” Ronnie said, turning to her with a smile. “Maybe if we have a boy…”

  “You want it?” the man sitting across from them at the table demanded before taking a long drag on his cigar.

  The three of them sat in a small, cramped diner that smelled strongly of smoke mixed with vinegar and had all of its windows blacked out. It had the distinct feeling of being closed indefinitely for a very good reason. The restaurant owner, the man sitting across from them, was Scribbles’ contact who, much to Minnie’s surprise, had actually done a pretty good job at producing a fake ID.

  “You want it?” the man repeated.

  If it wasn’t for the crippling unease that rendered her silent and as stiff as a board, Minnie might have felt relieved at this faint glimmer of hope presented to them. If Ronnie could get a new identity, just maybe they did have even the remotest of chances of a somewhat normal life. Once he was on his feet, once she’d had the baby, he could take care of it whilst she went back to school. Maybe she could still be a doctor after all!

  Ronnie cleared his throat, “passport?” he asked.

  Minnie was shocked by her boyfriend’s blunt tone with the decidedly scary-looking individual opposite them. However, the man didn’t bat an eyelid and instead produced the second ID. It was just as legitimate-looking as the driver’s licence.

  “I’ll take it,” Ronnie said, with a nod. “How much?”

  The shady-looking restaurant owner paused and took another puff of his cigar. He was a stereotypically bad-looking man, wearing all black clothes, a long leather coat, and even had a suspiciously slick moustache. He looked like the type of person who got what he wanted and who made death happen when he didn’t.

  “The agreed price,” the man finally said, “and a favour,” he added.

  Minnie sensed her boyfriend tense beside her in his seat, and immediately her anxiety soared, rocketing up from the pit of her stomach and into her throat. Instinctively, she clasped his sweating palm and squeezed it in her own clammy grip. Goose flesh broke out over her arms.

  “A favour?”

  With a long sigh, the man contemplated Ronnie, a look of amusement dancing on his lips. “A simple job,” he elaborated. “Somebody has something of mine. I need it back.”

  Suddenly, out of thin air, a highly inappropriate giggle formed in the back of Minnie’s throat and ended up spluttering past her lips in a completely ungraceful noise. She smacked her hands to her lips. Ronnie stared at her with wide eyes, mortified.

  It was a deadly mixture of her nerves and the fact that the entire situation was rapidly transforming into a scene from The Godfather or some other corny gangster movie. It was comical. Comical that she and Ronnie, a few weeks ago just a pair of loved-up teenagers, were here.

  Buying a counterfeit ID.

  With stolen cash.

  About to be dragged into some kind of theft.

  All whilst she was pregnant at sixteen and had run away from home.

  Oh yes, and Ronnie was on the run from the police.

  The restaurant owner narrowed his eyes at her, giving her a hardened stare that instantly silenced her.

  “She’s nervous,” Ronnie said apologetically. “You were saying about this job?”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  2019

  “Lloy- I mean, Joe!” Zach called,
briefly forgetting his brother’s assigned stage name. “Shit,” he muttered to himself quietly, checking worriedly behind him in case someone overheard. Beneath his feet, the grass was dry and crunchy, despite there being rain just last week since last week. It was dead, lifeless.

  It just went to show how isolated the country park was. All because a bunch of travelling thugs in camper vans had pulled up and started beating the shit out of anyone who tried to make them move along. Zach didn’t care what anyone else said. Violence was power. The proof was in the pudding, contrary to the crap they filled your head with in schools or churches.

  Not that he’d ever been to school.

  His parents had never registered him, so he’d never attended (thank fuck). He’d never been to a hospital or to the doctor either. In the future, he’d never officially own his own house or go to a university. Everything he knew, he’d been taught by his mother and father. And he was, he knew for certain, much more intelligent than the average person. He was well-read and skilled at charming manipulation. Zach was a quick thinker, good under pressure, and had an excellent understanding of human anatomy thanks to his mother’s medical background. Best of all, if shit ever hit the fan, Zach knew how to survive, whilst other millennials his age would probably suffocate if they couldn’t update their social media for prolonged periods of time.

  Society, school, and conformity were a load of old bollocks, in Zach’s opinion.

  Who in their right mind would want to waste their existence as a wretched, butt-kissing slave to the government?

  He’d settle for bleeding out if he ever took a bullet to the wrong artery, over a damned life of bending over for society to fuck him in the arse with a condom made of sandpaper.

  “Joe!” he called again, breathing out as he approached the circular gathering of thick trees. It was really rather beautiful, actually, aside from the crap, dried-out grass. He wondered for a moment if his little brother was simply trying to romance Sambuca. Perhaps he’d learned a thing or two from him and was schmoozing the girl. God knows Lloyd could do with getting laid. Zach knew this all too well from spending the last few years often sharing bedrooms with him and regularly drifting off to the sound of his furious masturbation… yes, perhaps Lloyd was merely reciting romantic poetry or carrying out some grand gesture of affection.