Stepping inside, she was surprised at the layout. What was probably once the main living room was now an office with just a few essentials. However, the room kept its rustic charm, with exposed oak floorboards and a beamed ceiling. To the right was a large wooden desk and directly in front of her were two brown velvet sofas. The random mismatch of dining room chairs and a coffee table with magazines on it reminded her of a dentist’s waiting room.

The previous meeting had been brief. All she’d done was to knock at the door and give her name and take the parcel. At the time, she just assumed it was the dealer’s house. She hadn’t realized that the cottage held any special significance. Judging by the hard-faced men in the room, though, she had clearly been mistaken.

Sitting behind the desk was Leon. He appeared to stiffen and looked uneasy when the tattooed man came in. ‘Everything kosher, Steph?’ he asked nervously.

The tattooed man snatched a briefcase from one of the seated men, gave a menacing sneer in Leon’s direction, and marched out the door. The tension suddenly lifted, and the men, who were gathered and poring over a large map of South-East London, went back to circling areas on it, using black felt-tip pens. Jackie didn’t know whether to say hello or ignore them and walk over to Leon. She suddenly remembered her make-up had run in the heat: she’d been distracted by the car behind, causing her to forget about the state of her appearance. Now, she was feeling uncomfortable and could have kicked herself.

Leon looked up and waved his hand for two of the men to leave. He grinned and leaned back in his chair.

‘Hello again, Jackie.’

She took two steps forward and nodded. ‘Hi,’ she said, feeling very awkward.

‘So, Jackie, what can I do for you?’ His sly grin widened. He was mocking her, and she knew it.

With her back now to the ominous men, a surge of gumption shot through her veins. ‘It’s more about what I can do for you.’

Leon raised an eyebrow and lost his grin. She noticed how his deep-set eyes were close together. They were dark, like his hair. His skin was olive. Maybe he’s Italian or an Arab, she thought, yet he spoke like a Londoner.

‘Is that so, Jackie? Only I didn’t come knocking at your door, you came knocking at mine.’

She smiled and hoped he was joking, but his eyes narrowed again. ‘So, what is it then that you can do for me?’

‘I know people and—’

He laughed. ‘We all know people, darling.’

‘Yeah, but I know people that I can sell to.’

No sooner had she got the words out of her mouth than Leon lunged across the desk and snatched her hair, pulling it an inch from his face. ‘Bad fucking move, tramp!’