Adele took her eyes off them and looked instead at Caroline. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered, breathlessly, as she tried to force a smile and her eyes took in Anna and Cheryl, too.

‘Bloody hell! Look what they’ve done to you. The nasty bitches!’ said Caroline, examining Adele’s face while Anna stared open-mouthed and Cheryl tutted.

Adele instinctively put her hand to her cheek where it was smarting. Then she brought her fingers away, noticing that they were daubed in blood.

‘Ouch, that really bloody hurts!’ she said.

‘It will do, it’s deep,’ said Caroline, narrowing her eyes and wrinkling her brow.

‘How did you know what they were going to do?’ asked Adele, looking at her three friends.

‘Caroline sussed them,’ said Anna. ‘She thought they were after me but when we couldn’t see them in the rec room we thought we’d better make sure you were OK.’

‘Yes, I overheard them scheming,’ Caroline said. ‘I’d had an uneasy feeling for days. It was the way they were being a bit too over-friendly. So I listened in to one of their conversations. I couldn’t hear much from outside the cell but I heard Anna’s name mentioned.

‘They must have been discussing her in relation to you, maybe planning to get you when we weren’t around. Then someone told us they saw them heading to the gym so I got her to send the guards while we ran ahead.’

‘Thank God you got here,’ said Adele. ‘Otherwise, I don’t know what the hell they would have done.’

Caroline smiled at her and put her arms around Adele’s shoulders in her usual motherly fashion. Adele was thankful that it was all over, but she knew it was only a temporary reprieve. Shazza was back to her usual vindictive self. And Adele knew that, from now on, Shazza would make all their lives a living hell once more.

Chapter 23

Peter walked into the Golden Bell nightclub. The owner, Max Bell, had asked him to come alone, but Peter was taking no chances. Max seemed an OK sort of bloke but you could never be sure so Peter parked a couple of his men inside the door while he strode up to the bar.

It was still early. There were only two customers at the bar nursing pint pots brimming with watered-down beer, and a few staff arranging tables and beer-mats, ready for the evening’s onslaught. Behind the bar was a camp barman, delicately polishing glasses till they shone.

‘Is Max upstairs?’ asked Peter.

‘I’ll see if he’s available,’ said the barman, making a show of looking Peter up and down, with his lips pursed, then throwing down his tea towel onto the bar.

‘He’s expecting me,’ snapped Peter.