Danny was pouring them large whiskies, and she took the glass he offered her without thinking. As she gulped down the fiery liquid she started to cough, feeling as if it was choking her, burning her throat and belly. Her brother pulled her into his arms, and she buried her face into his chest; she could smell the acrid aroma of burning, knew that it was the aftermath of her mother’s death. She had been blown apart – there was nothing left of her, she was gone. It was surreal.

Jamsie was crying quietly, like a baby, and Davey was trying to comfort him. As Danny held her close, she felt herself holding on to him as tightly as she could. Noel was just sitting there, staring ahead of him.

But it was her father who was worrying her; he was wild-eyed, and he looked like he could collapse at any second. Never in her life had she seen him looking so vulnerable, so human. He seemed smaller somehow, crushed.

She could hear her nana coming through the front door and, when she came into the kitchen, Tania flew into her arms, grateful to have a female around. Her nana was the next best thing to her mum – she always had been.

Theresa held her granddaughter in her arms, and she whispered over and over again that everything would be all right. But Tania knew it would never be all right, nothing would ever be all right again.

Tommy Barker busied himself making tea, pouring drinks, and like each of them, he was wondering who the fuck could be behind this night’s work.

And, like each of them, he had his own suspicions.

Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen

Ria Bailey was standing beside her husband; they had been in West End Central for hours, and now they had finally made it to Daniel’s home.

She knew that she would never ever forget this night as long as she lived. It was unbelievable. Lena, poor Lena, to die like that.

As they walked into the house, Ria could see traces of her friend everywhere, from her cardigan draped over the banister to her slippers lying by the front door. Cut down in her prime, and by a car bomb that had been meant for her husband. That was the real shocker. It was her Peter who should be spread all over the West End, not Lena. She felt guilty because, deep down, she was glad it wasn’t him, she was glad he was beside her still. She felt bad for feeling like that, but it was the truth.

Poor Tania – she was just seventeen, and her mum was gone, murdered. It was so fucking unfair, so wrong.

Lena had never done anything to anyone, she was the best of the bunch really. Now she was dead, and there was nothing anyone could do about it, nothing that could bring her back.