Ria was reeling. She felt sick, as if she was going to vomit everywhere – she had never felt so ill before in her life. She could happily drop down dead right now, right at this minute, and not care in the least. This was monumental, and she was not sure how best to deal with it. Peter would go ballistic, and she admitted that he would have every right. ‘He’ll kill him, Theresa, he will fucking kill him.’

Theresa sighed heavily. ‘That’s why we have to make sure he sees him at my house. Now, get your boys to come as well – they’ll have to help Jack if Peter goes for him. I don’t care what you tell them, just get them round mine. Daniel has sent Noel and Jamsie to sort out the body, before someone finds it, and it gets out of hand.’

Ria nodded; she understood what her mother-in-law was telling her. Time was of the essence.

Chapter Seventy-Four

Noel and Jamsie slipped the key into the lock and, opening the door slowly and quietly, they listened intently for any sounds that would tell them the flat was occupied. There was silence.

Shutting the door gently behind them, they screwed up their noses at the sour smell that seemed to pervade the whole place. There were bags of rubbish everywhere they looked – dirty nappies had been left on the floor, along with old clothes, and the odd pile of dirty washing. Toys were scattered along the hallway, and old newspapers, yellowed and brittle with age were strewn around.

It was a typical tower-block flat; it had a long dim hallway with doors that opened off it to the bedrooms and bathroom then, at the far end of the hallway, a door led them into the front room, and from there another door led into the kitchen. The whole place was filthy.

They walked quietly down the dark hallway and, opening each door as they went, they both checked the rooms thoroughly. The first room had nothing in it at all except for a battered, old-fashioned cot. Somebody had once painted it white, but now it was chipped and ingrained with years of dirt and neglect. The mattress was stained and ripped. A single blanket had been folded up and placed neatly at the bottom, and it looked incongruous compared to the rest of the room. The wallpaper was hanging off the walls, the floors were bare and there wasn’t even a curtain at the window to say that the child who had once graced that cot had ever had someone who cared about them.

The other rooms were in a similar condition; it was only when Noel opened the front-room door, that the two brothers stopped abruptly.

‘Fucking hell, Jamsie, this is mental.’