‘Turn it in, Shan – or at least turn it down. I’m not in the mood for any of your whining and blubbering. I’ve already had enough shit tonight, and that’s before I decide what needs to be done about Alfie. I mean, who the hell does he think he is setting up a club right on my doorstep? He must think I’m a flipping mug. Do I look like a mug, Shan? Come on, be honest. Do I look like I’ve got idiot written on my forehead?’

Wiping away her tears, Shannon shook her head. ‘No, Char, he’s the one who’s the mug.’

Charlie stared at his niece and smiled. He liked her loyalty. That went a long way in his book. Okay, so she moaned a lot, she chewed off his ear more than the other girls that he had working for him, but when all was said and done, Shannon was a good grafter – he’d give her that. And underneath the thick, exaggerated make-up, there was a beautiful girl and even though she was just sixteen, there was still the look of a child about her. A vulnerability. When she wiped off the cack from her face, she could easily pass for as young as ten. A ten-year-old with a woman’s body. Punters paid a lot for that.

The other thing he’d always liked about Shannon was that she seemed grateful. Grateful for the care he gave her. He supposed there was something to be said about having family working for him. Not that his sister, Shannon’s mother, had been much use to anybody. Far from it.

Like their own mother, she’d been weak, spending most of her life in and out of mental institutions before she’d been found dead from an overdose of heroin in a back alley off the Old Kent Road. As a result, Shannon had gone to live with one of her aunts who, in his opinion, had done a good job with the girl. She’d prepared Shannon for the harsh realities of life. She’d made her strong. She hadn’t wrapped her up in cotton wool, which didn’t do anything for anybody apart from making them weak.

No, what his sister had done was get Shannon out there. Exposing her to how life really was. Getting her to earn her keep from the start by pawning her out, before putting her full time on the game, and Shannon had not only earned his sister a crust, but she’d also made a little bit of pocket money for herself too. If his memory served him right, he recalled his sister telling him once that Shannon had been earning at least fifteen pounds a week for herself when most eight-year-old girls would be lucky to have a couple of pounds. Shannon certainly was a lucky girl.