At fourteen, Charlie found there were plenty of opportunities for theft and he exploited every one of them. The Charlie Boys were now teenage tearaways, villains in the making while the manor was ruled by real gangs, much older and more dangerous. Things were changing. Churchill had resigned and Eden had taken over. Charlie and Terry started boxing a bit, but they had no real talent for it, so Charlie decided crime paid better.
Charlie was leader, so Terry agreed. Why not? All Charlie’s mad schemes seemed to pay off. They started doing more cars – only nobs, flash gits and doctors had cars, so the pickings were good – and then a few houses. They nearly got caught when they were clearing out some candlesticks and jewellery from one house, but Terry tripped the furious owner up and took a punch in the back of his head that made it spin, just to let Charlie make a clean getaway.
Afterwards, in the den, when it was only the two of them, Charlie expressed his gratitude.
‘He would have caught me,’ he said.
‘Nah, you were off on your toes, mate,’ said Terry.
Charlie’s button-like dark brown eyes held Terry’s. Charlie was a short, solidly built boy, brown-haired and red-faced, while Terry was thinner, taller. With his red-blond hair and green eyes, he was shaping up to be a good-looking man one day.
‘That ain’t the truth,’ said Charlie. ‘The truth is, Tel, you saved my arse, and I’m grateful.’
‘It was nothing.’ Charlie was Terry’s mate, had been ever since the cradle. They were war babies, tough as old boots, the pair of them. He’d fall under a bus for Charlie, gladly. ‘My job, innit? I’m number two, so I protect number one, don’t I? Simple as that.’
‘Yeah, I s’pose.’
Terry eyed his mate. ‘Forever, Charlie. I’ll always look out for you. You know that.’
‘Forever,’ echoed Charlie, and held out his hand. ‘We’re going to run this whole fucking manor, Tel. You and me mate. Together. You see if we don’t.’
Terry shook Charlie’s hand. ‘Forever,’ he said.
And that was it.
The pact was sealed, the deal done.