Vincent understood the loneliness Gabby felt inside, knew that her mother was the bane of her life, and everyone else’s for that matter – his included. Because if Cynthia Tailor ever found out about him he knew he would be warned off, and not in a polite way either. He would get the kicking of a lifetime, which was why they were meeting so out of the way of their usual haunts. It was also why he was cultivating the friendship of certain young men who could give him an in to the kind of life he wanted to be a part of. If he could get some respect – and not just as a little local hard nut, but as an earner – Vincent knew it would sweeten the pot where her family was concerned. He had plans and he had dreams, and he was determined to see that they were fulfilled at some point in his life. Because this girl was going to be the mother of his children and that, he knew, was a fact.

As he walked over to the table, he saw the love shining out of her eyes and, like many a man before him, he believed that would be enough for them. He was still too young to know that determination was only the half of it. It was the hard graft that was the really difficult part. Life was like that, he would find out much too late. It let you think you had the upper hand when all along it knew you were heading for disaster.

For the moment, anything seemed possible. They were happy just to be together, and that was more than enough for them.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Jonny Parker had spent a not entirely disagreeable afternoon with Cynthia, and was now on his way to visit one of his clubs. It was a very worthwhile enterprise which housed sixty different lap dancers over a two-week period. The girls were young, ultra fit and up for literally anything. Just the kind of girls needed for the West End of London. Even better, they were all well within the legal age, and had a vested interest in staying at that particular club. Jonny paid them very well, and they were in a position to meet men of all classes and colours who had one thing in common – serious amounts of dosh. Wonga was the girls’ god, and they got it by the thankful. The men were vetted and they were, for one reason or another, interested in privacy more than the girls themselves.