As Petra Gissing stepped out of the cab, suitcase in hand, she glanced down the path towards the grey brick semi. The house had been her home for over twenty years until Roy had dropped the bombshell that he was dumping her for a cheap little slut who couldn’t keep her legs shut. That had been three years ago, but the betrayal still rankled. It was her pride that had been hurt more than anything else. She’d stuck with that man through thick and thin – and most of it had been thin – and then he’d gone and done the dirty on her.

The old resentments rose to the surface as she approached the front door. She’d fed the bastard, washed his clothes, raised their kids, lied to the filth for him and never missed a visit when he got sent down. And what thanks had she got for it? A goddamn divorce petition three days after her fiftieth birthday. Still, there was one consolation: the old git was serving a five-stretch now and it served him bloody right.

Petra started hauling the heavy suitcase up the driveway. She had probably packed more than she needed but she didn’t know how long she’d be staying for. A week? A month? That depended on Kelly. The poor kid was bound to be a mess and she didn’t plan on leaving until she could take her baby with her.

Wayne appeared before she was even halfway along the drive, which saved her the indignity of having to ring her own front doorbell. ‘Give us a hand with this case, will you, love. It weighs a ton.’

‘What took you so long?’ he snapped. ‘We’ve been waiting all morning.’

Petra threw him a sharp look. ‘It’s good to see you too. And I’m in Bournemouth, not bloody Bethnal Green. I’ve been up since the crack of dawn.’

‘Yeah, sorry. Sorry, Mum. It is good to see you. It’s just all been…’ He picked up the case and carried it the rest of the way and over the threshold into the hall. ‘Kel’s been asking for you.’

‘How is she?’

‘Hysterical,’ he said. ‘She hasn’t stopped crying since she found him. And last night they kept her down the nick for hours.’

Petra closed the door behind her and frowned. ‘They can’t think she had anything to do with it.’

‘She’s a Gissing, ain’t she? The filth don’t think twice about stitching any of us up.’

‘Well, they’d better not try it with her. Did you get her a brief?’

‘Yeah, course I did. Tony Marshall. He was with her when they did the interview.’

‘And what does he reckon?’

‘Says it’s early days. The pigs are still trying to work out exactly when Eddie died. And the only alibi Kel’s got is that after leaving the Mansfield in the morning she was home all day with Sharon.’

Petra flinched a little on hearing the name of the tart who’d taken her place. ‘But you said his wife did it, that she was there when Kelly left. Why would they —’

‘I’m not saying they do. I’m just not saying they don’t either.’ Wayne pulled a face. ‘Let’s wait and see what happens, huh? Kel’s in the living room. You go through and I’ll take your case up. Will you be okay in the spare room?’

‘Have I got a choice?’

‘Well, you can have my room, if you’d rather. I don’t care where I sleep.’

‘No, that’s fine. Put it in the spare.’

As her son walked up the stairs, Petra hurried along the hall and into the living room. ‘Kelly? I’m here now, love. I’m here.’

Kelly raised her tear-stained face and wailed, ‘She killed him, Mum. She killed my Eddie. What am I going to do?’

Petra sank down on to the sofa and took her daughter in her arms. ‘I know, baby. It’s a terrible thing. Don’t you worry, sweetheart. Mummy’s here. You’ll be all right. I’m going to take care of you.’

It was another ten minutes before Wayne came downstairs again. By then Petra had managed to calm Kelly down a bit. She looked up at her son. ‘Make us a brew, will you? I’m spitting feathers here.’

‘I’ve got to go out.’

‘What’s so urgent that it can’t wait five minutes?’

Grumbling under his breath, Wayne disappeared into the kitchen.

Petra gave Kelly another hug. ‘I won’t be a minute, love. I just need a word with your brother.’ She got up, crossed the room and leaned against the door with her arms folded across her chest. ‘Want to tell me what’s going on?’

‘You know what’s going on.’

Petra moved inside the room, closed the door and lowered her voice. ‘Don’t give me that, Wayne Gissing. What aren’t you telling me?’

‘Nothin’.’

‘You’re a bloody awful liar. Come on, spit it out.’

Wayne turned his back on her, playing around with the mugs and the tea. ‘It’s probably nothin’.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

Wayne looked over his shoulder. ‘There’s been a bit of bother with Terry Street.’

‘What kind of bother?’

‘Just a scrap at the Hope. It was a few days back.’

Petra raised her eyes to the ceiling. Like father, like son, she thought. Neither of them was capable of keeping out of trouble for more than five minutes. ‘And what’s that got to do with Eddie?’

‘Did I say it had anything to do with him?’

‘Does it?’

He hesitated before replying. ‘It could have. Maybe. Things got kind of… Well, Vinnie Keane got knifed, nothing serious but maybe Terry decided… But he wouldn’t, would he? Eddie was never one of the firm so it don’t make sense. Except with him getting stabbed same as Vinnie…’

‘An eye for an eye,’ Petra said, knowing exactly how Terry Street’s mind worked. He wouldn’t have taken kindly to Vinnie being hurt. The two blokes went way back. They’d both worked for Joe Quinn all those years ago and they’d been tight ever since. ‘What the hell were you doing at the Hope in the first place?’

‘I can drink where I want, can’t I?’

Petra placed her hands on her hips and let out a sigh. ‘Not in Terry’s pub. That’s just asking for it. Was Eddie with you?’

‘Nah, course not.’

‘Are you sure?’ She stared hard at her son. ‘Wayne?’

‘He was waiting outside, okay. He was keeping the motor ticking over in case…’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ she muttered.

Wayne’s face took on a surly expression. ‘It’s not my bleedin’ fault. He offered. I didn’t make him do it. Anyway, that tart’s still in the frame, Eddie’s missus. It was probably her did for him.’

‘And if it wasn’t?’

Wayne turned back to the counter, slopped some hot water into the mugs and gave the tea a stir. ‘Then I’ll sort it.’

Petra stared at him. He was the image of his dad in every way, short and solid with the same sharp face and thin lips. She loved her son but he wouldn’t win any beauty contests. All the Gissing men were ugly – it was in their genes – and most of them were nasty too. ‘Yeah, and that’ll really help. Who’s going to run things if you get banged up?’

Wayne dropped the teabags into the bin, added milk and sugar to the tea and handed her the two mugs. ‘The same invisible man who’s doing it now while I’m wasting time talking to you. I need to get out there, Mum, and do some digging.’

‘When are you coming back?’

‘How should I know? Later. This evening probably.’

Petra gave her a son a steely look. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, huh?’

Wayne picked up his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged himself into it. ‘You just worry about Kel, I’ll take care of the rest.’

It was another few hours before Petra was finally able to persuade her daughter to take a sleeping pill and go to bed. She sat beside her until she fell asleep thinking that the hardest thing about being a mother was seeing your kid in pain and not being able to take that pain away.

Since moving to Bournemouth, Petra missed Kelly more than anyone else. Perhaps she should never have gone away, but after being ditched by Roy, the thought of staying in Shoreditch, of constantly bumping into him and his tart, was just too much for her. Not to mention the pitying looks from the neighbours. Oh, have you heard about poor Petra Gissing… No, she couldn’t have borne it. What she’d needed was a fresh start, a new beginning.