Twin Towers Estate: The Gang Wars Trilogy (Books 4-6 Hero, Villain, Versus) (Twin Towers Estate British Crime Thrillers)

By Chris Barraclough

Experience the epic second trilogy from the Twin Towers Estate crime series, from award-winning (UK Authors Award) British crime and thriller author Chris Barraclough - also nominated for the Sony Reader Award, Page Turner Prize and SpaSpa Award for Best Psychological Fiction.

Hero

From reader reviews: “Can't put down”; “Fantastic read”; “Keeps you gripped to the end”; “Awesome”; “Fast paced, easy to read, gripping book”; “Highly recommended”

Ten seconds.

That’s how long you have to decide: do you intervene when an innocent person is assaulted by a gang of thugs, or do you look away? Pretend nothing’s happening?

For Nathan Pang, an ex-cop scraping a living as a security guard, his decision sends devastating shockwaves through his family’s lives. And when his son is targeted for revenge, he finds himself drawn back to the Twin Towers Estate, where two gangs are on the brink of all-out warfare...

Villain

From reader reviews: “Awesome”; “Loving every one of them”; “Well worth the five stars”; “Fast paced, easy to read page turner”; “Fantastic read”

Eleven-year-old Poppy wears the trousers in her home, following her father's downward spiral into depression. But when the criminal gang who reign over Gladstone Tower threaten to destroy her family, Poppy's decision to fight back leads to violence and terrible tragedy.

With its shocking twists and dark humour, Villain is the most nail-chewing entry yet in the Twin Towers Estate UK crime series...

Versus

From reader reviews: "Brilliant", "Gripping", "I've read all the books in this series and I have been unable to put them down", "This series has been brilliant and I don't want it to end".

The dramatic and violent conclusion to the Twin Towers Estate UK crime series...

This book contains very strong language and occasional violence and is intended for mature audiences only. Scroll up and click the cover image to read a sneak preview, and check out www.chrisbarraclough.co.uk for more info on Chris' Kindle crime novels.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Barraclough
• Release date: May 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311720993

Chris Barraclough

Chris Barraclough is an award-winning crime writer and journalist from the UK. His debut novel 'Bat Boy' (told from the POV of a blind British boy searching for his father after a family tragedy) took him a sweat-inducing four years to write, but the pain was worth it. Bat Boy won the UK Authors Award 2011 and was published by the UKA Press, to great critical acclaim. 25% of paperback royalties are donated to the RNIB (so buying a copy makes you a wonderful person). His fast-paced crime thriller 'Crack', the first in his Twin Towers Estate series, was shortlisted for the Page Turner Prize and SpaSpa Award for Best Psychological Fiction. His second novel 'Dead Dogs' - a suspenseful but darkly comic portrayal of a family torn apart by Albania's archaic Blood Feud revenge laws - was nominated for the Sony Reader Award and his third novel, Devil's In A Different Dress, is out now and free for a limited time. See www.chrisbarraclough.co.uk for more news and info on upcoming books.

Book preview

Part One

Hero

ONE: Pang

Ten seconds.

That’s all the time Nathan Pang had to decide: should I intervene, or should I just stay in my seat and stare out of the window, pretend that nothing was happening? Just ten seconds to make a simple decision. A decision that would have a more crushing effect on his life than he could ever possibly imagine.

He was sat upstairs on the top deck when it happened, one row in front of the back seat. It was a miserable rainy Wednesday night so the bus was mostly empty. Just four other passengers were up there with him. A young couple sat three rows ahead on the left, the girl seemingly asleep on the guy's shoulder. Halfway down the bus there was a petite Indian woman with bulging shopping bags slumped across the seat beside her. And at the very front, a middle-aged man in a grey raincoat and glasses, reading a thick paperback novel. Even though Pang had been pushed out of the police force almost a decade prior, he still found himself observing every last tiny detail of every situation, wherever he went. It was a skill that had come in handy more than once.

The bus pulled up to the gates of the Twin Towers Estate at half past eleven. Pang stared up at the enormous concrete fingers, illuminated by a scattering of lights, and as always he felt a sharp tugging sensation in his gut.

This is where it all went monstrously wrong.

He heard the bus doors wheeze open and loud voices drifted up from below. The voices grew louder, accompanied by the heavy clomping of boots on the stairs, and a moment later two youths roughly eighteen years old, one with soft brown skin and the other deathly pale, bounded into view. They looked around, their eyes briefly meeting Pang's before drifting over him as if he didn't exist. The bus shuddered and pulled away, and the boys slumped down into a seat beside the stairs, just two rows behind the man with the paperback.

Immediately, the pair began to talk at a jarring volume, shouting as if they were sat at opposite ends of the bus.

Fuck's up with Michelle tonight? asked the dark-skinned boy, dragging his fingers through his dreads which hung down to his shoulders.

Fuck knows, man, said the chalk-white boy, his shaved head mostly hidden beneath a faded red baseball cap. Must be rag week or summit. Stressy cow, you see the way she thumped me? He pulled back his jacket and lifted his t-shirt, revealing a skinny hairless torso. Surprised she didn’t crack a rib with ‘er fat fist.

Mebbe Banksy ain't giving her it no more.

Ha, aye. Slag prob'ly just needs a good deep dicking, eh. Their laughter cut through the bus. The young woman asleep on her partner's shoulder stirred and lifted her head. You gonna give 'er it, then, Lee? The boy with the cap cackled and slapped his friend across the back of his head. Lee dug in his elbow, a wide grin stretched across his face.

Right after I finish banging your sister, nobber. The pair tussled on the seat, laughing and cursing, until the man at the front lowered his book and turned around. Pang watched, his stomach cramping as if he already knew what would happen.

Excuse me, the man said, his voice loud but calm. Can you please stop that? The two boys froze and stared at him, and although Pang couldn't see their faces, he could picture their expressions - surprise, twisting into fury.

Fuck off, you four-eyed cunt! screamed the boy in the cap. He slid off his seat and staggered into the aisle as the bus rounded a corner, grabbing the poles to keep himself upright. This your bus, is it? Eh? He advanced, stopping right beside the man. His victim was staring up at him, mouth agape.

What? the man stammered.

This your fucking bus, bugger lugs? The boy in the cap leaned over him, hands still wrapped tight around the poles.

N-no, of course it-

Pang jerked in shock as the boy in the cap lashed out, slapping the man clean across his face, then he snatched his victim's glasses away and raised them over his head like a trophy. When he turned back to his friend, he was smiling.

Here, Lee, check this out mate! He donned the glasses and rubbed his chin. Bet I look proper smart now, eh?

Nah, mate, Lee said, still look thick as shite.

Give those back! The middle-aged man demanded, and he pushed out of his seat and lunged at the boy in the cap. The boy's elbow flew so fast that Pang barely saw it, but he heard it connect with a solid smack of bone on bone before the man staggered back against the window, blood gushing from his nose. He didn't scream, or make any noise at all. He simply folded up, sliding down the glass with a hand pressed to his face as rivers of crimson ran between his fingers.

Ten seconds.

Exactly ten seconds after the slap, Pang was on his feet. He had already started down the aisle when the man slumped back into his seat, shaking silently at the sight of his own blood. To Pang’s left, the couple watched on in stunned silence. Up ahead on his right, the tiny Indian woman stared out of the window, pretending not to notice. The bus trundled on through the empty streets, the driver seemingly clueless downstairs in his cabin, or choosing to ignore the disturbance too.

Pang was halfway down the aisle when the boy in the cap turned towards him. Two narrow, dark eyes focused on him.

Fuck you staring at? the boy asked, tearing the glasses from his face and throwing them on the floor. Pang stopped two rows away from Lee. He glanced at the glasses, then shook his head.

Give those back to him and leave him alone.

Lee guffawed and rose to his feet, and the boy in the cap slowly stepped forwards, his scowl softening.

You gonna make me, are ya?

Best back off, Lee warned Pang, ’less you wanna busted nose like that twat.

All he did was ask you to be quiet, Pang said. Look what you've done to him. Did he really deserve that? The man seemed to be in shock, rocking with the motion of the bus, his eyes fixed on the floor, hand still pressed to his face. The boy in the cap snorted, his gaze still locked on Pang.

Fuck you, pussy boy.

The words stoked a fire in his gut and he shook his head again, the colour seeping from his knuckles as he gripped the back of the nearest seat.

Curse as much as you like, son. It won't ever make you a man.

Fucking 'ell, Lee said, his grin slipping into a teeth-baring snarl. Let's teach this prick a lesson.

Pang braced himself and backed off as the pair advanced. The aisle was too narrow for them both to fit, so the boy in the cap came first, his shoulders hunched up and chest puffed out. He closed the distance in four confident strides. Pang saw the boy's right elbow jerk backwards and his body tilt and roll, and he jerked away from the punch as it flew towards him. A knuckle grazed his jaw, snapping his head to the side and sending a shockwave through his neck. Pumped up, the boy came at him again, this time throwing a fist at Pang's gut. Pang recovered in time to snatch the boy's wrist and wrench his arm to the side, slamming it against a pole. He clenched his fingers and aimed a blow at the boy's chin, but the bus took a corner at speed and the pair of them were tossed off balance, tumbling into the seats.

Pang gasped as a metal frame cut into his back, then he was sprawled on the floor, wedged between two of the seats. A second later, Lee was stood over him. The boy raised a boot and slammed it down onto Pang's shin, screaming obscenities. Pang pulled his legs up to protect them, his shin burning from the impact, but panic had already set in. He was stuck down there, vulnerable, helpless. Lee stamped down again, catching his other leg. Another flash of pain, and a red hot rage bubbled in Pang's stomach.

You want some more, Lee shouted, leering down at him. Here, have some more, pussy!

This time, when the boot was raised, Pang kicked out his own foot and caught the boy on his supporting knee, a crunching blow with the heel of his shoe. Lee screamed and buckled instantly, smacking down onto the deck. Pang grabbed the seats and heaved himself up, squeezing out of the gap, but barely made it onto his knees before the boy in the cap lunged at him from the left. On pure instinct he threw up an arm, but the boy knocked him back and lashed out, catching him hard across the face with the back of his hand. Pang stumbled out into the aisle, tripping over Lee and rolling to the ground.

Fucking wanker, the boy yelled, coming after him. Pang sensed him reaching out and scrambled away, kicking himself back up to his feet. His cheek stung from the blow and his back ached with every movement. Up ahead, the middle-aged man had shaken himself from his stupor, the blood already drying into a black crust across his upper lip. They made eye contact for an instant, before Pang pressed his fingers into the nearest stop button and twisted around to see the boy lunging at him once more.

The next few seconds were a blur. Just before the boy reached him, Pang threw himself forwards and snatched a hold of his jacket. He shoved as hard as his aching muscles allowed, but the boy grabbed his wrists and they stumbled together down the bus, before collapsing over Lee's still-writhing form. Pang rolled over both of them as the bus braked hard and came to a sudden rest at the side of the road.

He lay there staring at the dirt-encrusted roof, vaguely aware of footsteps all around him, until finally the concerned face of a teenaged girl hovered over him.

You alright? she asked, offering him a hand. He staggered to his feet and winced at the pain in his spine while the young couple stared at him, dumbstruck. Pang glanced around but the boys had gone.

They get off? he asked, and the girl nodded.

You must've hurt 'em, they had to limp off. You're brave standing up to them lot, they could've had a knife or anything.

More footsteps, pounding up the stairs. Pang turned and saw the driver, a portly bald man in a blue shirt, appear on the top deck. The driver took one look at the middle-aged man with blood smeared across his face, and his eyebrows leapt up his forehead.

Bloody 'ell happened here, then?

When Pang staggered into the storage warehouse canteen an hour later, Marion and Kay were already sat beside the coffee machine in their dark blue uniforms, clutching plastic cups and chatting. They stared at him as he hobbled over.

Howdy, old man, Kay said as he leaned back to push the machine's 'cappuccino' button. His drawl was stuck somewhere between Australian and American, a product of his well-travelled youth. Thought you were a no-show. Pang grunted and crouched down to snatch up the freshly dispensed cup. The frothy liquid bubbled and the smell of the steam hung in his nostrils, bitter yet inviting. When he turned to face them, Marion gasped and pushed to her feet.

What happened to you? she asked, raising a hand and cupping his chin. Her thumb brushed over his lower lip. Jesus, Nathan, you're all bruised. Your lip's bleeding.

It is? He poked out his tongue and tasted blood. Now Kay was on his feet too, brushing thick strands of dark curly hair from his eyes.

Shit, she's right. You been doing a spot of DIY or something?

Har har. Pang pulled a tissue from his back pocket and dabbed at his lip. Just some bother on the bus. Two punk kids starting some trouble. Marion pursed her lips.

You were fighting kids?

Not fighting, just teaching them a lesson.

Bruce Lee style by the looks of it, Kay said. Way to go, Nate Dog. Still got the old cop skills, eh?

Hardlies, Pang said, slumping into a seat. Feels like I've been run over by a bloody tractor.

The last of the day shift had already left the warehouse, their presence marked by a nest of crumbs and crumpled napkins on each of the canteen's dozen tables. Beside the coffee machine, a sink was filled with dirty plates and bowls. Pang stared at the used crockery and sighed.

The poster asking people to clean up really helped, then. Marion smiled as she slid into the seat opposite.

I told Ian it was a waste of paper and ink.

No worries, Kay said, slapping a palm down on Pang's shoulder. We just need a new poster with this guy's face, looking all pissed off. 'Clean your bowls, ya bastards, or I'll kick yer bleeding teeth in'.

Before Pang could protest, the canteen door swung open and the warehouse owner, Ian, leaned in. The top button of his pink shirt was undone and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat.

Crap bloody day, he said, his voice booming across the room. Had a leak in the gents, so use the ladies for now. Gates are all locked, alarms are on, and I want someone out there with a torch making sure those thieving pikey kids don't come over the fucking fence again. Swear I'm gonna get the twat electrified, see how those little shits like a thousand volts up the arsehole. No sleeping on the job and I'll see you at seven. With that said, he disappeared and the door eased shut.

Hi, Ian, Marion said to the door. She smiled at Pang and raised her plastic cup. To another shitty night shift.

Hear, hear. Pang tapped his cup off hers. Guardians to ten thousand lockers filled with people's random tat.

At least it pays, Kay said. And almost as well as cleaning bogs for a living.

So, Pang said, draining his coffee and tossing the cup in the bin. Who wants to volunteer for perimeter duty? Kay squinted at him and snorted.

Fuck that for a laugh. It's pissing down out there now. They all stared at the window, seeing only their own reflections against the darkness as the rain pattered against the glass.

Kay, Marion said, be a gentleman for once. Nathan's hurt and you wouldn't send a woman out into the rain, would you? His face collapsed, and finally he shook his head.

Bastards. Fine then, I’ll do it. Fucking kids. If the little tossers try it again, I'll give 'em a hiding.

If it wasn't for thieving runts like them, Marion said, we wouldn't have a job.

After Kay had donned his coat and slumped outside, Pang followed Marion to the surveillance room, where they sat before an enormous console of monitors and kept watch on the endless corridors of garage-style lockers. Between their regular patrols, they passed time in the usual ways: cards, darts and amateur philosophy, all three of which usually ended in heated arguments. Tonight, however, the atmosphere was a little more solemn than normal. Pang noticed that Marion was unusually quiet, as if her mind was somewhere else altogether. He’d only known her for a couple of months since starting this job, and she was his junior by a decade or so at his best guess, but his time as a policeman had taught him to read people’s body language. He could clearly tell that she was distracted, perhaps even a little depressed.

After his third straight victory at Killer, he nudged her arm.

Hey, you okay? Doesn’t look like your head’s in the game. Marion stared at him blankly, then shook her head and exhaled.

Sorry, yeah, just thinking. She smiled and dropped her darts on the desk. I’m in full-on revision mode for the NIEs, got all this stuff floating around in my head.

You’re taking the cop exams already? Marion nodded.

Yeah, I’ve been working hard for it. I just can’t stand this place. No offence to yourself and Kay, I love working with you guys, but I want something a bit more fulfilling than staring at TV screens all night.

Ahh come on, Pang said, life as a copper isn’t all that great. For one, you can’t play basketball for hours at a stretch, using crumpled up bits of paper and the bin. She stared at him with mischievous hazel eyes and her cheeks formed miniature dimples as her smile stretched into a toothy grin.

Would you go back, if you had the chance to be a cop again?

I...I don’t know. Pang slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms. I do miss it sometimes, but that job took over my life. Ended with my wife divorcing me, right after I got shunted out.

Oh well, Marion said, I’ve never had much of a life outside of work and caring for mother anyway. And if I keep just one more person from becoming another victim like my brother, it’ll all be worth it.

How’s he holding up? Pang asked, and Marion grimaced.

He’s walking fine, but his pretty smile’s never gonna be the same. She rubbed her neck and sighed. It’s just senseless, all of it. Why do people do the things they do?

You know, I spent a decade on the force, dealing with all kinds of people every day, and I still don’t know. That estate... He shook his head. I’ve seen some incredible acts of kindness there. People handing out food and blankets to elderly neighbours to help them get through the winter. Comforting each other when times are tough. But every time I was there, I was smothered by this overwhelming... He threw his hands in the air. I don’t know, desperation and grief. With things the way they are, I’m not surprised some people resort to mugging and stealing. You know what I mean?

Yeah, I know what you mean. Marion sniffed and ran her fingers through her hair. As soon as I save up enough cash, I’m getting my family the hell out of there. My mother won’t even leave the flat now, after what happened to Federico. She just sits in there all day, knitting goddamn tea cosies. They don’t even fit the kettle, she knits them anyway. She smiled a weary, sad little smile. And now I’ve got five scarves and a dozen fucking cardigans that I’ll never wear.

Well, Pang said, I’ve heard it’s going to be another cold summer.

At just before seven, Kay shuffled into the surveillance room and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

Hey, Nate, there’s someone outside to see you. Pang narrowed his eyes.

Who?

Said he was a reporter or something, just wants a few words. You coming?

They walked side-by-side down the long, dark hallway leading to the staff entrance, which was hidden around the back end of the building. The corridor was strangely cold as usual despite the warmth outside, and even with his jacket on, Pang still had to suppress a shiver. Their footsteps boomed out through the entire building, interrupted only when Kay glanced back over his shoulder and spoke.

Hey, I didn’t want to say anything ‘round Maz ‘cos I knew she wouldn’t approve, but stepping in and smacking ten shades outta those thugs...that’s pretty awesome, man. He stared at Pang and smiled. Must’ve felt good too, huh?

Well, to be honest, Pang replied, I’m surprised my bladder didn’t give out. I was hoping they’d just step down without a fight.

Yeah, a lot of ‘em are like that. All mouth, nothing to back it up. I’ve had a few run-ins since I moved into G Block, wish the little bastards had the balls to try it on. He ground his fist into his palm, but Pang shook his head.

Careful what you wish for, Kay. Plenty of those kids are packing knives.

Well, with any luck they’ll wipe themselves out soon enough. Been a lot of rivalry between the G Block and D Block gangs lately, bit more than the usual chest puffing and ball grabbing. Pang glanced at him, his brow furrowed.

Really?

Yeah, ever since this big butch fella started rounding up the G Block fuckers into one big outfit. Scary fucker, built like a brick karzie. Seen him knocking about at night when I’m leaving for work. I heard he’s got them stealing cars and breaking into shops on the high street. Been tons of burglaries ‘round us as well. They practically do it during the day in plain view now, ‘cos everyone’s too terrified to report them.

Jesus. Your place secure?

Had bars on the windows when I moved in, but I got some more locks fitted. Thinking about buying a dog too, the biggest, meanest mutt I can find. Train it to bite those scumbags’ willys off when I whistle. Pang laughed.

Just make sure it doesn’t bite yours off. You might need it some day.

Pang waited while Kay unlocked the staff entrance and they slipped out into a brisk morning breeze. The sun was already staggering its way skyward, casting long shadows across the concrete parking lot. Together they shivered, and Pang thrust his hands inside his jacket.

He’s waiting just out there, Kay said, pointing to the far end of the yard. In the deep orange haze, Pang could just make out a figure leaning against the bars of the fifteen-foot gates. He started walking while Kay locked up, and the other man jogged to catch him up, the keys still jangling in his hands. They were ten feet away when the visitor turned and smiled through the bars. He was dressed in a cream coloured suit that was slightly too small for his portly frame, and a black shirt that suffered the same fate. Pang stared at the shirt’s collar button and was suddenly paranoid about it firing off under extreme pressure.

Nathan Pang? the man asked, fondling a tiny notepad and pen. Pang nodded.

That’s me.

Fantastic, my name’s Andrew Crosbie, I’m chief news reporter for the Chronicle. Hope I’m not disturbing you, I just wanted to run a piece about last night’s attack and was hoping you’d have a few words?

You mean the thing on the bus? Pang squinted against the sunlight. How’d you find out about that already? And how’d you know I was involved?

Ahh, Crosbie said with a grin, just a bit of journalistic magic.

You mean a source at the police station? The grin wobbled but didn’t quite collapse, and Crosbie shrugged.

Always good to have contacts. Anyway, I’d like to focus on the moment of the attack, before you stepped in to help. What passed through your mind, why did you get up to help?

For a long while, Pang stared at the reporter. Then he pulled on his ear lobe and sighed.

No one else would. Simple as that. It was me, or nothing.

TWO: Poppy

Poppy staggered under the archway into Gladstone Tower’s courtyard, the plastic shopping bag handles cutting into her tiny fingers. For a nine-year-old girl her biceps were impressively toned, but they burned under the strain of a week’s worth of groceries. She winced and pressed on across the courtyard towards the enormous looming tower.

Just a few paces in she glanced to her left, an involuntary reaction. Stood in the far corner, relaxing in the shade, she saw Jerome and Bender. Just the sight of them gave her heartburn. When Jerome met her gaze and gave her a mock salute, she whipped her gaze away and raised her chin, striding defiantly on towards Gladstone. She knew why they were there. She knew about the little transparent bags that Bender hid about his person, how they charged a nominal fee to first-time customers to get them hooked, then bumped up their rates when the cravings kicked in. She’d seen them beat another boy almost to death, simply for begging for a free taste when he couldn’t afford it. And every time she passed them, every time she thought about what they did, she wished she was enormous and powerful so she could crush them into pulp with her fists.

Poppy stopped outside the lifts, which led straight up the side of Gladstone within a jutting concrete column, and she twisted around so she could nudge the call button with her elbow. The metal button was refreshingly cold against her skin. She shuffled to the doors and pressed her face against them, and the hot, sticky feeling that had spread across her cheeks vanished almost instantly. A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. She sighed and stayed pushed up against the metal until the groan of the lift approaching boomed out from the other side, like a furious monster clambering its way from its cave. At the last moment, she peeled herself away and stepped back.

When the doors opened, a familiar face hovered over her. The face beamed.

Well hello there, little missy. How goes it?

Alreet Connor? She slid to her side to let him out and he nodded down at her bags.

Jesus, gyro day again already? Year's flying by, be Christmas before ya know it. He shot her a wink and held out a hand. C'mere, gimme some ah those.

Cheers Con, but ah'm okay. She gritted her teeth and raised the bags up to her head, her arms trembling hard. See? she gasped. Connor applauded his smile widening.

Remind me not to ever piss you off, Pops. Reckon you'd take a guy's head off with those guns.

Aye, better believe it! She grinned back as she lowered the bags, showing off the gap in her teeth. Poking the tip of her tongue through the gap was a habit, something she loved doing in the mirror. Sometimes she pretended it was a mutant worm head, wriggling its way out of an apple. Ah gotta go 'fore the frozen stuff melts, she said, stepping into the lift and nudging the button for the fifth floor. The doors were ready to close when she let out a sudden oh, and shoved her foot in their way, leaning out again. Con, did ya nick that Alfa you were telling me 'bout? The red Giulietta?

Why of course, my dear! He leaned against a pillar and pulled a fag and lighter from his shirt pocket. His pale, freckled face lit up under the flame and he took a quick draw, blowing the smoke out through his nostrils. Couldn't let some privileged seventeen year old geek drive around a fine car like that, could I? Such a waste!

Your cousin stripping it?

Nah, he knows someone wants it whole, down in the big smoke. Simple paint and plates job. He winked again and shooed her with his hand. Now go on wee 'in, before your crispy chicken gets all soggy.

When the lift doors opened on fifth, Poppy shuffled down the walkway which circled the outside of the tower, rounding the corner and stopping outside her front door, number thirteen. The door to the neighbouring flat, number fourteen, was wide open. A jumble of boxes were stacked up alongside the railings, overflowing with random objects: books, cutlery, clothes. She stared at the clutter while she set down the bags and fished her thumb into her jeans, stabbing at the door key inside. She took her time pulling it free and easing it inside the lock, until a boy stepped out of the next door flat and bent to snatch up one of the boxes. He was older than her, maybe sixteen or so, with a thick muscular body and a shaved head. His bulging forearms rippled as he lifted the box, and Poppy could clearly make out every individual muscle poking into his tight white t-shirt. The boy turned towards her and caught her staring, and she immediately jerked her head away, focusing on the key as she twisted it. The door swung open on the third attempt. She grabbed the shopping bags and cast a quick glance to her left, and was surprised to see the boy standing there still, his eyes locked on her. She stared back until he gave her a nod, then she hurried inside and pushed the door shut.

When she saw the state of the flat, the bags tumbled from her fingers and collapsed onto the carpet, spreading their contents across the floor. Her chest tightened and she almost doubled up from the sudden nausea. The lounge was in ruins. Drawers had been pulled free and emptied, the bookcase had been ransacked and even her mother's paintings had been ripped from the walls and thrown across the room.

No, she spluttered, stepping over a pile of magazines and a broken ashtray. Dad! Dad! She charged into her father's bedroom, throwing open the door and staggering up to his bed, eyes wide with shock. He was lying on his back across the top of the duvet, fully clothed, his mouth gaping as if in mid-scream. For an instant she was sure he was dead, until she saw his chest heave upwards and heard the raspy breath