Frank slowed, looking left and right.

So did Farmer.

To the right there was another wall. Nowhere to go.

To the left, no wall.

‘Don’t!’ said Farmer, taking in the situation in an instant.

There was a small pile of rubble and then there was a drop down, into a scrubby-looking garden. At the bottom of the drop were spiked iron railings, preventing entry to tea leaves, house breakers and scrotes like this one. Frank looked down there and Farmer could see him thinking I could make the drop. I could clear those railings.

Farmer held out a hand as Frank stood there, panting, almost doubled up with exhaustion.

‘Don’t. Come on. Let’s talk this over. All right?’ Farmer was panting too.

Frank straightened. Farmer looked at the older man’s sweat-streaked, wrinkled face and saw it twist in a bitter smile. Farmer started to move.

‘Don’t . . .’ he said again, but it was too late; Frank gathered himself and then he was flinging himself forward, down into the garden below.

There was one choked, high-pitched scream.

Farmer ran on and looked down.

Frank was impaled on the metal railings. He was hanging there like a rag doll, his legs moving weakly, his arms thrashing. Burbling screams were coming out of his mouth.

Feeling himself start to heave, Farmer quickly looked away. He gathered his breath and ran back out on the main road and was deeply relieved to see Paddy thundering down toward him.

‘Pads! Ambulance! And we need the fucking fire brigade too. Hurry!’ he shouted.

Then he slumped down onto the pavement, out of breath, sick to his stomach. Out here, he couldn’t hear the man screaming any more and he was grateful for that. His head spun. He waited for help to come. There was nothing else he could do.

157

In the long hours that followed what happened at the family home and after all the women had been checked over, statements were taken. It was DS Paddy Hopkins with a female DC in attendance who spoke to them, not Farmer.

When they finally made it back home, first thing June did was slap the kettle on.

‘Bloody Dora and her fucking lowlife boyfriends,’ she said, her hands still shaking as she dropped tea bags into three cups. ‘My head’s thumping like a bastard.’ She touched an unsteady hand to her bandaged brow and glanced at the back door, then she crossed to it, and quickly – for the first time ever – locked it. ‘Christ, I thought we were done for.’

‘The main thing is, we’re all right. From what the police say, that animal Frank Pargeter is dead. He’s not going to hurt anyone, not any more,’ said Lil, patting Angel’s hand soothingly when Angel stiffened at June’s insult to her mother.

June brought the tea over and then they sat nursing cups of it around the kitchen table and thought about what a narrow escape they’d all had today. Frank Pargeter had become impaled on some spiked railings, Paddy had told them, and had died of his injuries before the fire brigade could cut him free. Baxter Graves was in hospital and would face prosecution when he was well enough to do that.