‘Would you rather have the TV on?’

‘God, no, I don’t want to hear about how fucked up the world is.’

He smiled. They listened to old classics from Moby, Coldplay and James Morrison.

Within ten minutes, Kelly was asleep.

Chapter 10

Jackson rolled over and looked at his watch: it was too fucking early. It was barely light and he realised that it was Thursday: he’d slept right through. He felt refreshed and decided to get up and make something to eat. He was constantly hungry. He stretched and put on a hoody, then went to the kitchen. He switched on the TV; the early-morning news was on.

He was just about to open the fridge, but stopped when he realised what the news segment was about. A woman was dead, stabbed in Potton Park yesterday. He wondered idly if it was a drug deal gone wrong. She could have been buying or selling, it didn’t matter which. It was a fool’s game. Jackson smoked the odd spliff and drank too much booze only occasionally, not wanting to let go, but it wasn’t his life. Some people just got addicted and it overtook everything. He didn’t like the way drugs and alcohol made his body feel: they sucked the life out of him and made a gym session disappointing.

He’d discovered the gym four years ago, when he was sixteen years old. It changed his life; gave him a purpose apart from hate, and focused his mind and his body. It earned him his nickname: ‘Guns’ Akers. It was why people left him alone; that and the knowledge that he was no threat. He didn’t want to fight, that wasn’t why he worked out. He listened as the newsreader said the woman was from the Ullswater area and had a family. It didn’t add up. This wasn’t some estate nobody.

He opened the fridge and found some roast chicken. He put water on to boil for pasta and checked his phone. He was ready for a training session, and the gym was only a ten-minute cycle from his flat. A message popped up, a request to make a collection, and he rolled his eyes. He rarely said no. He could be in and out in under ten minutes and still get to the gym before opening the garage at nine o’clock. That was where he fixed bikes. He didn’t reply to the text: that wasn’t how it worked. It was assumed he’d be there.