‘Can I see Charlie Stone?’ she asked. ‘Is he in?’

‘What d’you want to see him about?’ asked Terry, pushing Jill away from him with a smile. She pouted, smiling back. Then her eyes went to Nula.

Nula gulped hard, avoiding meeting Jill’s gaze. ‘I want to talk to him about a loan,’ she said to Terry.

‘Right. OK then. Come in.’

Nula went in, looking around curiously. Charlie Stone’s house was much like her own parents’ place – a plain little two-up-two-down. Nothing fancy. Not what she’d expected, at all. Someone with money to dole out to other people should have a better place to live in than this, surely?

Terry went to a door at the end of the hall, knocked once, then opened it. Nula, growing doubtful, wondered what the hell she was getting into. She stepped into a room and the door closed behind her. It was shabby in here. The sofa looked like something left over from the war. There was a desk in the corner, and behind it sat a man.

She recognized him, of course. The one that poor little Colin Crowley, who’d died doing that housebreaking job, used to hang about with. That had been tragic, really. Her God-bothering parents had taken the view that the little bastard had broken into someone’s drum, and when you did that, you got exactly what you deserved – and Col had. Torn to ribbons by a Rottweiler, apparently.

Nula shuddered. Christ, what a horrible way to go.

He was looking at her now, Charlie who had never so much as given her a second glance. She had always been far beneath his attention.

And him?

Well, she’d always been aware of him, obviously she had. But he was on another level to her, she’d understood that for a long time. Charlie Stone was going places. Today he looked the part in a suit that was clearly bespoke and not off-the-peg. He had the air of a successful businessman already. And he wasn’t exactly bad looking.

Charlie Stone was squat, that was the word. He was about five eight, and solid. In twenty years, Nula reckoned he would run to fat. But for now he was heavy-set, compact, with Brylcreemed dark hair. His hard, dark button eyes were skimming over her without any real interest at all – the way they always had.

‘I hear you do loans,’ said Nula, going up to the desk and sitting down with every appearance of calm, while inside she was scared shitless and she could feel her knees knocking together like castanets. If her parents or Jimmy could see her here, doing this, they’d hit the roof. They didn’t believe in Hire Purchase or in loans of any kind. ‘If I can’t afford it, I don’t bloody have it,’ Dad always said primly.