As the Guns N’ Roses song was played on the radio, Jessica turned it up full blast. She wasn’t usually a fan of rock music, but the song was called ‘Sweet Child O’Mine’, and Jess couldn’t resist joining in with the chorus.

Back in Southend, Jed was having trouble inserting his penis inside Frankie. ‘Are you OK?’ he whispered as he finally entered her.

‘I’m fine,’ Frankie lied. She felt as if her insides were being ripped to shreds.

‘I love you, Frankie,’ Jed told her as his movements got faster and faster.

‘I love you, too,’ Frankie replied, wincing.

Suddenly he made a groaning noise and rolled off her. ‘What’s up? Have I done something wrong?’ she asked, concerned.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Jed rubbed her clit with his finger. ‘Nothing’s up. I’ve already come, you dinlo,’ he said laughing.

As Frankie’s breathing started to quicken, Jed moved his finger faster and faster. ‘Ahh, Jed,’ Frankie panted, as she grabbed his head with both hands. This felt nice, much more pleasurable than him being inside her. She reached her orgasm, yanking his head.

‘Fucking hell. You nearly broke me neck,’ Jed teased.

Frankie let out a happy sigh. She really had found the man of her dreams.

Hearing Eddie’s car pull up on the gravel, Jessica flung open the front door.

‘What’s this, a welcome committee?’ Eddie joked.

Jessica took his hand and dragged him into the lounge. She handed him the glass of champagne she’d already poured and told him to sit down and drink it.

As Buster and Bruno bounded into the room, Jessica shooed them out. This was her and Eddie’s moment.

‘What’s occurring?’Eddie asked. He had sort of already guessed, but didn’t want to spoil her plans to tell him herself.

‘You’ll never guess what I found out today,’ Jessica said excitedly.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Eddie lied. ‘I’m pregnant, Eddie. We’re having that baby,’ Jessica screamed.

Still caked in mud from earlier, Eddie stood up and lifted her into his arms. ‘I love you so much, Jessica Mitchell. I really, really do.’

THIRTY-THREE

At seven o’clock the following evening, Eddie and Raymond pulled up outside the Flag in Canning Town.

Eddie had asked around half the neighbourhood earlier but, apart from what he already knew, no one had any more information about the night his dad died. Frustrated by the lack of progress he’d made, Eddie wasn’t in the best of moods.

‘There must have been bangs, crashes and fucking screams. Me poor fucking dad was tortured. Some cunt must have heard something, surely,’ he said to Raymond.

Raymond shrugged. He had no answers. Poor old Harry’s death was a complete mystery to all and sundry. ‘How’s Jess?’ Raymond asked, changing the subject.