Dolly had her own worries, her own private concerns, but she wasn’t completely cut off from the rest of humanity. She went downstairs one morning and into the kitchen, and there they all were: Celia, Darren, Aretha and Ellie, all sitting around the table with untouched cups of tea in front of them, all looking like they’d lost a tenner and found sixpence.
Dolly stopped inside the kitchen door and stared at them. Celia hadn’t even lit a fag, hadn’t even put one in her ivory holder. It lay on the table in front of her, unused, beside an unopened packet. It was like they were all in suspended animation. They didn’t even look up at her.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, gazing around at their still, frozen faces.
Celia was the first to respond.
‘Oh! Doll,’ she said, and seemed unable to say more.
‘What is it?’ asked Dolly, taking her usual seat. She gave a tentative smile. ‘What’s happened then? Somebody died or something?’
Celia gave a slow dip of a nod. ‘Yeah. Something like that, Doll.’
‘What?’ Dolly had been joking. The smile fell from her face.
‘You know the Delaney boys?’ said Aretha.
‘What about them?’ said Dolly.
‘We got the news ten minutes ago. Can’t take it in really,’ said Celia.
‘What is it?’ Dolly’s mouth was dry. Whatever it was, it was bad. Really bad. She could see that.
‘Tory Delaney’s dead.’
‘Tory . . .’ Dolly frowned. Tory was the one in charge of the Delaney gang they paid protection money to, the one who’d come in here with his hair-trigger-tempered brother Pat and sorted out that punter who’d been beating on Ellie.
‘He’s been shot. Outside the Tudor Club in Stoke Newington,’ said Celia, whose face was pale with shock.
‘Four times, they reckon,’ said Darren. ‘Three in the chest, one in the head. Nobody knows who did it, but we’re all thinking the Carters.’
Dolly knew the Delaney and Carter gangs were at loggerheads – had been for years. But this . . . this was going to bring open warfare on to the streets. And if Tory was dead, who was going to be in charge of the Delaney gang now? Who was going to take revenge for Tory’s murder?
‘Redmond will take over. He’s the eldest. Not Pat – he hasn’t the brains for it,’ said Celia.
‘Redmond? That’s the one with the twin, ain’t it?’ asked Aretha.
‘That’s the one. Redmond and Orla. Redmond’s a thinker. Christ, I’ve only just got used to dealing with Tory. Tory was always a bit of a hothead, but Redmond? He’s a cold fish. Cold right through, that’s Redmond, that’s what everyone says,’ said Celia.
‘Wasn’t there another son? Younger still?’ asked Ellie.
‘That’s Kieron, the painter. No, he wouldn’t be into dirty games like the others. He’s kept himself apart from all that,’ said Celia.
Dolly tuned them out; she was still thinking about seeing Sarah and Dad on the street, still reliving it, still seeing little Sar’s face. She felt powerless and terrified whenever she thought of Dad. She couldn’t face him, she couldn’t bear it.
But oh God. Sarah!
‘Dolly! Wake up girl, stick the kettle on, will you? This tea’s stone cold,’ said Celia.
Dolly tuned back in. She stood up and did as Celia asked, feeling a cold shiver run right up her spine. Things were changing here at the knocking shop, and she hated that.