“When I drove Dolly to Harry’s funeral, and I knew she was burying someone else’s charred, broken bones, I remember feeling the same as when I buried Jason. I looked down at both coffins and thought, ‘It’s OK, Eddie, lad. There’s no one in there that you know.’ My whole life, I’ve been thinking Jason or Harry could walk back in through that door at any moment . . . and here you are, Jack. A bit of both of ’em. Who’d believe it, eh?”

Jack got up to return the album to the bureau. By the time he’d walked the length of the room, one photo of Harry Rawlins had made its way into his pocket.

“Harry Rawlins was a man amongst men, Jack,” Eddie said as he shuffled to the front door to see Jack out. “He had the ability to make you not only trust him but want to protect him. He rarely smiled, but when he did, those dark eyes of his would light up. That made me proud to be close to him. I wish you’d known him at his best.”

Back in the street, Jack’s heart was beating out of his chest. Why? Why was he excited his father was a man who walked all over people? Why was he excited he was a man who didn’t seem capable of loving anyone for long? Jack was not callous and cruel. Jack was not in this world to take what he wanted and fuck the consequences. But there was something that he yearned for—a space deep in his very soul that needed to be filled. For the first time in a very long time, Jack felt like he’d stumbled on a world he belonged in. It wasn’t the lawlessness, it was the excitement. Jason had lived a short, vibrant life with no regrets, whereas Liam would live a long, predictable life. Which was best?

Jack looked at his mobile. Shit! There was a voicemail from Laura. He’d been so engrossed in his conversation with Eddie, he hadn’t even felt it vibrate. Barry Cooper was about to be taken down in a synchronized raid from two Armed Response Units and Ridley’s team were all heading there to make the arrest. All except Jack.

Chapter 28

Barry was squatting in the corner of the kitchen, feeding a tiny tortoiseshell cat. His forearm was in a cast and the plaster was covered in penned obscenities, mainly drawings, from various army mates. Four kittens lay in a cut-down crisp box under the workbench and when the mother climbed back into the box, three of the little kittens smelt their way straight to her and fed like there was no tomorrow—but the smallest didn’t stir. Barry picked this little one up, took it out of the back door and, moments later, came back empty-handed. The mother cat didn’t even look up.

This property was a ground floor flat in a four-story terraced house. From the outside, it looked rather opulent, but this part of Essex had recently been reclaimed by the council to create housing for soldiers. One of Barry’s army buddies, Topper, lived there in between deployments but, today, Topper had gone to Colchester Garrison for a stint at training the Army Reserve. He’d be away for three days and had said that Barry could lie low until whatever shit he was in had passed.